LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Shelf.jJ&-.£GrNH 
m £t 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



THE MERRIMACK RIVER 



HELLENICS AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



BENJAMIN W. BALL 



EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, BY 

FREDERICK F. AYER 



( 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 

&be Knickerbocker |press 
1892 






SEP 21 1892 j 




Copyright, 1891 
BY 

FREDERICK F. AYER 



Ube fmicfeerbocfeet f>ress, *ftew l^orfe 

Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by 
G. P. Putnam's Sons 



TO 

MY WIFE. 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction 

To the Merrimack River 

Where Are the Dead ? 

Asia to America 

Humanity ; or, The Colossal Man 

Names . 

Europe — America 

Black Care 

The Spirit Realm 

The Inevitable End 

Illusion 

Words 

The Youthful Dead 

The Dipper 

The Earth and Man 

Madre Natura . 

morgenroth 

abendroth . 

Long Ago . 

The Past . 

The Lonely Mirror 

The Hunter's Moon 

Morning 

Autumnals, i. — II. — in 

Traveller and Deserted House 



PAGE 

xiii 
i 
3 

5 
6 
8 
8 

16 
18 
19 

20 
21 
22 
23 
25 
26 
28 
28 

29 
3i 
32 
34 
35 
36 
39 



vi Contents, 

Cathedrals 44 

The Dead Past 45 

The Task of Civilization 45 

The Dead Bard 47 

In Memoriam — (Emerson) . . . . .48 

Thoreau 50 

The Star of the Lion 54 

Sonnet 56 

To Benedict Spinoza 57 

Kant 58 

Happy Hunting-Grounds 58 

Holy Land 60 

The Poet's Land 61 

Sonnet 61 

Land, Light, Water, Air 62 

Truth 63 

This World 63 

Nature 64 

The Equinox 64 

The Human Countenance 65 

The Past 66 

Truth 68 

The Swan and the Eagle 70 

Fauns 72 

Morning 73 

An American Valhalla 74 

Burns 76 

Victory 76 

A Priest of Nature 77 

The Poet of Old 78 

The Marvel of Life 80 

Ledyard's Soliloquy 83 

To Humboldt 89 

Monadnoc 91 

Berenice's Hair 97 

The Quail 99 

The Pleiades 100 



Contents. 



vn 



In Memoriam — (Charles F. Low) 
Hawthorne's "Marble Faun 
Carlyle and Emerson 
To Bismarck 
The Old Gods . 
Personality 
North Conway . 
Translations from Heine 

Sonnet to Heine 

Anticipation of Old Age 

Greeting the Sea 

The Pine and the Palm 

The Thoughts of Love 

A Mountain Idyl 

The Fisher-Girl 

The Fisherman's Hut 

The Avowal 

The Question 

The Phcenix 

The Stars . 

Night on the Beach 
The Land of Youth 
To A. L. R. 
To Mrs. Harriet P. S. — Two Sonnets 
Cockaignes . 
Odors . 

A Leaf of Cypress 
Birds of Passage 
Domus Nympharum 
Love and Tempest 
Lines . 

corinne — consuelo 
Utopias 

Foreign Travel 
Sunrise 

The August Cricket 
The Teuton 



i 02 
103 
104 
106 
109 
112 
117 
120-140 
120 
121 
123 
125 
126 
127 
129 
130 
131 
i33 
i34 
136 
138 
140 
145 
145 
147 
147 
149 
150 
151 
152 
153 
154 
154 
155 
156 

i57 
158 



Vlll 



Contents. 



The Poet and the River 








• 159 


The Revolution 








. 161 


Pygmalion 








. 161 


Tedium Vit.e 








• 163 


The Palm and the Pine . 








. 164 


To the Moon 








. 166 


Aromas, i. — n. — in. — iv. . 








. 168 


To Byron and Alfieri 








. 170 


Hannibal .... 








. 170 


To Emilio Castelar . 








• 171 


Ultima tEtas 








• 173 


Ocean .... 








• i74 


Scientific Truth 








• 177 


Sleep 








. 177 


D^DALUS .... 








. 178 


Eugenie . . . . 








. 179 


" Monstrari Digito " 








. 180 


Translations from Horace 








182-197 


To Dellius . 








. 182 


To Lucius Sextus 








. 184 


To Melpomene . 








. 185 


To Torquatus . 








. 186 


Ode IX., Book i 








. 187 


Epistol^e, Book xi., 2 . 








. 188 


Horace Invites Maecenas 








. 190 


To the Roman People 








• 193 


Horace's Life at Rome . 








. 197 


Sights and Sounds . 








• 197 


The Horatian Muse 








. 198 


The Burden of Her Songs 








. 19S 


The Ethics of Horace . 








• 199 


His Father 








. 200 


Horace and Augustus 








. 200 


Horace and the Ringdoves 








. 201 


Philippi .... 








. 201 


Aloeus and Sappho 








. 201 


The Patron of Horace . 








. 202 



Contents. 



IX 



The Roman Tavern Girl 








. 203 


Virgil 






. 205 


Gray's Alcaic Ode — Translation . 






. 207 


Nightwind — Poet . 






. 20S 


The Loon 






. 2IO 


Two Sonnets 






. 211 


Nature 






. 213 


Aromas, i. — 11. — in. — iv. — v. 






. 214 


The Indian's Heaven — from Schill 


ER . 




. 217 


Monticello 






. 218 


Septennial Venus 








. 219 


The Hunter's Moon . 








. 220 


The German Muse vs. th 


e English 






220 


June .... 








. 223 


The Stream of Life 








. 224 


Orientalisms 








. 224 


To Swedenborg . 








. 226 


A Caucus of Crows . 








, 226 


Our Bards . 








. 228 


The Veiled Isis 








. 229 


Sonnet to Carl Schurz 








• 230 


Rivers 








. 231 


Free Translations from < 


Joethe's 


Faus 


T 


• 233 


The Old Voyagers . 








. 236 


To the Nile 








• 237 


Byron and Shelley . 








. 238 


Morning 








• 239 


Spring. 








. 24O 


Pioneers 








. 24I 


Giordano Bruno 








. 242 


Saturn and Jupiter . 








. 242 


The Hunter's Moon 








• 243 


An October Eve 








• 244 


Ocean .... 








• 244 


IIerschell's Star-Clusters 






• 245 


Phantasmagoria 






• 247 


At the Grave of Hawth 


DRNF 






• 249 



x Contents. 

YOUTHFUL POEMS. 

To My Wife 255 

Inscription 257 

The Teutonic Minstrel's Tomb .... 258 

Invocation 259 

To W. P. R 259 

Monody of the Countess of Nettlestede . . 261 

Lucifer Redux 264 

Ansaldo's Garden 266 

To Rufus Choate 267 

To the Cricket 268 

Departing Summer 269 

HELLENICS. 

Hellas 273 

The Greek 274 

The Ionian Greek 275 

Myths from Homer 280-286 

Niobe 280 

The Cranes 283 

The Muses 2S4 

Homer's Anthropomorphism 286 

Homeric Cremation _ . . 289 

Mount Ida To-Day 290 

The Shield of Achilles 293 

Three Sonnets — To Ionia 298 

Helen and Menelaus Translated to Elysium . 300 

Epimenides, the Cretan Sleeper .... 305 

Ph.edra 308 

The Singer (Aoidos) . . ' 309 

The Lost Helen • . 310 

The Slain at Troy 311 

Schiller's "Gods of Greece" — Translation . 311 
The Lament of Ceres — Translation . . .316 

The Legend of Tithonos and the Dawn . . 322 



Contents. 



XI 



Hylas 






326 


Vernal Hymn to Apollo . 






327 


Col^us OF Samos .... 






33i 


Demeter, or the Eleusinian Mother 






333 


Chorus in Lesbos .... 






340 


Mimnermos 






346 


Idols 






350 


Pygmalion — A Legend of Cyprus . 






35i 


Sardanapalus 






354 


The Carrier Dove .... 






355 


Leda and the Swan .... 






356 


The Ionian Wise Men 






356 


Iphigenia 






359 


Crcesus and Solon .... 






360 


^Esop 






362 


Lamplight vs. Starlight . 






364 


The Oak and Reeds. 






365 


Omphale 






366 


Anakreon's Dove .... 






367 


Herodotus, the Father of History 






368 


The Scythe 






369 


A Doric Temple .... 






37i 


The Midland Sea .... 






372 


Xerxes Crossing the Hellespont . 






373 


Amestris, the Wife of Xerxes 






374 


Cambyses and the Calf-God . 






374 


Two Godless Kings .... 






37^ 


The Fury-Haunted .... 






373 


Ionian Art 






379 


Athens — 5TH Century B.C. 






382 


The Jupiter Olympius at Elis 






385 


The Ancestry of Perikles 






386 


Nemesis 






387 


The Venus of Praxiteles 






388 


Iphigeneia in Tauris 






39° 


Prometheus 






39 1 


Pan 






394 



Xll 



Contents. 



The Delphic Apollo 

The Ten Thousand . 

Pentheus . 

Baffled Pursuit 

The Greek Philosopher 

Anaxagoras 

Conscience . 

Diogenes 

The Ghosts of Marathon 

Charon's Obol . 

The Fall of Athens 

Lucian 

Palmyra — Zenobia 

Julian at Ephesus . 



395 
397 
400 

403 
404 

405 
413 
414 
41S 
419 
420 
421 
422 
423 



INTRODUCTION. 



[Benjamin West Ball is the son of Benjamin Ball and 
Mary Rogers, and was born in Concord, Massachusetts, 
January 27, 1S23. His parents were Concord people, and his 
ancestors were from Wiltshire, England, and among the early 
settlers of the town. He had a great-uncle, famous in his day 
and locality for his strength and pluck, killed in the Battle of 
Bunker Hill. His childhood and early youth were passed in 
his native town, until he entered the Academy at Groton, 
Massachusetts, now known as the Lawrence Academy, where 
he was prepared for college. After leaving college he returned 
to Concord, where he passed much of his time cultivating the 
acquaintance and philosophy of Emerson. Writing of himself, 
he says : "It was my good fortune to have lived, in my boyhood 
and youth, in such beautiful New England towns as Concord, 
Harvard, and Groton, almost under the shadow of Wachusett 
Mountain. If I have any of the mens divinior of a poet, it 
was kindled and nurtured by the scenery of the above towns." 

Of himself in 1S51, when he published his first volume of 
poems, he writes : "I was almost a pagan at that time, being 
in fact a Greek of the age of Perikles, and an anachronism in 
the century or Anno Domini in which I was born. But thanks 
to the writings of Carlyle, Macaulay, Tennyson, and Dickens, 
who were running their marvellous literary careers in my youth, 
I soon became a modern." He studied law with John V. 
Robinson, of Lowell, the hero of Lowell's poem with the 

refrain : 

" John P. Robinson he, 
Says he won't vote 

For Governor B." 



xiv Introduction. 

He practiced law for two years in Lawrence, Massachusetts. 
In 1853 he married Miss Dollie S. Hurd of Rochester, New 
Hampshire, where he now resides. In 1856 he became editor 
of the Lowell Courier during the famous Fremont campaign. 

He subsequently became a Washington correspondent dur- 
ing the Lecompton Constitution controversy, which immedi- 
ately preceded and heralded the civil war. Although not a 
native of the old Granite State he was a graduate of Dartmouth 
College of the large class of 1842, and is reputed as the fore- 
most Greek scholar ever graduated from New Hampshire's 
ancient seat of learning. 

His contributions to the Atlantic Monthly and other pub- 
lications on topics connected with ancient Greek history, 
philosophy, and poetry, show his profound attainments as a 
scholar. An article of his entitled "Women's Rights in An- 
cient Athens," which was published in the Atlantic Monthly 
for March, 1871, attracted wide attention, both by reason of 
the nature of the subject and its masterly treatment and the 
familiarity which it evinced with the social system of the most 
famous city of antiquity. 

A volume of poems published in Boston as long ago as 185 1, 
by Munroe & Co., which was highly praised by the late Ralph 
Waldo Emerson, gave him a reputation as a poet which has 
been maintained by his numerous subsequent poems, widely 
published. Of himself he says: "I have been a bookworm 
rather than a man of action ; devoted to ideas more than to 
anything else. If I were to write an autobigraphy, it would 
be principally an account of the history of my mental develop- 
ment.'] 



Those who, holding an irreverent view of matter, 
have embraced a philosophy of materialism, and 
proclaimed this age in general, and our country in 
particular, materialistic, proscribe poetry, and 



Introduction. xv 

offer to show that man has outgrown, and can live 
without, the gentle maid. Material, prosperity and 
materialism cannot hold each other up ; for one 
falls as the other rises. Nor do they long hold 
hands. Our country, the home of material pros- 
perity unexampled, rocks the cradle of spiritual 
development. Here, as nowhere else, Poetry, the 
daughter of feeling and imagination, is always wel- 
come. We devote less time to her than others do, 
perhaps ; we may be less spoken, less demonstra- 
tive ; but not the less observing and appreciative 
of her charms. 

What men feel counts for quite as much as what 
they think. A new syllogism or equation adds 
bricks to the edifice ; but the complete structure 
has been foreordained and pictorial in the imagina- 
tion. Good poetry can no more be put aside than 
good men ; for the poem is the man. It is, never- 
theless, no cause for wonderment that, in a country 
teeming with the wealth of earth, men should be- 
come absorbed in the race for riches, and pending 
the struggle, forget to search for, or to wear as 
ornaments, the jewels of the mind. Existence 
first — growth afterwards. 

But man is a cunningly fashioned instrument ; 
though he may be out of tune for centuries, he is 
never out of date ; and when tuned again, he will 
breathe forth symphonies in response to touches by 
the deft fingers of Nature, the Arch-Artist. The 
reason is that, to some extent, all men are poets. 
The sacred fire has warmed and lighted the race 



xvi Introduction. 

from its early dawn ; for Darwin * tells us that his 
was kindled ''during the earliest ages of which we 
have any record." Also, according to Darwin, 
Poetry is the Child of Song. This accounts for 
music in the offspring — " The planet-like music of 
poetry," as Sydney describes it. Poetry is human 
greatness set to music. It is the soul in opera. 
And also in the words of Coleridge, it is "the blos- 
som and the fragrance of all human knowledge, 
human thoughts, human passions, emotions, lan- 
guage." Its ever rising and winding highways lead 
us, we know not whither ; while along its wondrous 
avenues we travel near to the shores of the Eternal 
Ocean, and catch, at times, a strain from the music 
of its endless waves. 

In the spring of 1890 I persuaded Mr. Ball to 
publish a complete edition of his poetical writings, 
believing that they would supply a want much felt 
for a poet in full step with the majestic march of 
modern thought in the progress of the sciences, and 
the development of a higher philosophy. Poetry, 
like all else, lives its life ; fulfils its functions with 
the powers with which it has been endowed ; and 
grows old in the process. We pay homage to Homer 
for his performances and his genius ; not because 
he is much in touch with our world, within or with- 
out. He sang of Myths, which to him were reali- 
ties and science. These lure us still, as Myths. But 
the tide which was coming in, in Homer's years, is 
still rising. It has carried away landmarks which 

* " Descent of Man," p. 570. 



Introduction. xvii 

were thought to be enduring ; and while tossing up 
new pearls, and making new continents, is gradually- 
destroying its former work, and washing away what 
were once regarded as "footprints on the sands of 
time." This persistent and pitiless wave of evolu- 
tion sweeps over all nature, and nothing escapes. 
Poetry is no exception, and must pass away when 
it has ceased to propagate itself by creating poets. 
Most remains unsung. This, doubtless, will always 
be so ; for man will forever remain larger than his 
work. 

"The tower, but not the spire we build." 

or, in the words of Holmes : 

" Our whitest pearl we never find ; 
Our ripest fruit we never reach ; 
The flowering moments of the mind 
Drop half their petals in our speech." 

In addition, there remain new eras, with their new 
creations of knowledge, types, systems, ideas and 
images ; their sentiments ; their hopes and fears. 
Ball has been a life-long, ravenous student in many 
branches of knowledge, as his voluminous prose 
writings would readily bear witness. He has es- 
pecially devoted himself to, and become largely 
versed in ancient and modern literature ; in civil and 
natural history, metaphysics, philosophy, politics, 
and the natural sciences. He has been a constant 
and copious contributor to our capital magazines 
and reviews ; and has always been in company 
with modern progress on its journey to higher aims 



xviii Introduction. 

and nobler theories. He sings the sciences, and 
paints philosophy in kingly colors. He recasts the 
precious metals once used in the art, in moulds of 
modern model and device. In 1851 he published 
a small volume of poems in Boston, * which went 
through several editions, and obtained much popu- 
larity, in New England especially, eliciting the very 
favorable notice of Ralph Waldo Emerson. They 
were the songs of his youth ; and I have retained a 
few of them in this edition, as they are both bright 
and fresh ; and exhibit the early unfolding of his 
poetic genius. These poems built the substructure 
of his reputation in New England as a poet of versa- 
tile and extraordinary gifts. He has, notwithstand- 
ing, persistently refused to allow the bellows to 
be put under his wings ; and more from a super- 
sensitive reluctance to put himself forward than 
from any other cause I am able to discover, has 
suffered the last forty years to elapse without any 
attempt at publication ; albeit that during this time 
he has been an overflowing composer, and the 
poems embraced in this edition are not the half of 
what he has written. Many, or most of them have 
indeed shown their heads at times in the periodi- 
cals ; or have been seen strolling through the 
crowded thoroughfares of the daily press. But 
they all wandered astray, like lost children ; only, 
perhaps, to attract, by chance, the casual notice of 
a passer-by ; or to pass unseen. 

* " Elfin Land and Other Poems." James Munroe & 
Company. 



Introduction. xix 

These rambling progeny of the spirit I have at 
last succeeded in gathering together under one roof. 
However high the estimate Ball has entertained for 
his own productions, he has surely kept it to him- 
self. They are the full ears of corn that hang 
down. Poets enjoy no immunity from the august 
decree that man does not attain to great stature 
while afflicted with a vomiting egotism, contracted 
by wallowing in himself. These poems were written 
without the promise or prospect of reward ; and 
therefore, without compulsion. Hence they were 
produced naturally and cheerfully, from time to 
time, prompted only by the spirit of " free imagina- 
tion — all wings," which presides over such destinies. 

On the banks of Concord's Indian stream, Ball 
first tasted the day. There his childhood and youth 
basked beneath the azure dome, tumbling on 
carpets of eternal green ; the air loaded with the 
fragrance of blossoming fields ; the days translated 
into music by fluting birds and seolian pines, and 
groaning oaks the thorough-bass of the forest : and 
his nights made brilliant by the solitaires of God 
set forever in the overmastering deep. Here was 
the natural cradle of a poet. Here he found him- 
self in Nature's lap. He grew up at her feet, and 
holding fast to her hand, she led him about over 
her New England hills and meadows, whispering 
her secrets, and showing him her gardens, where 
he plucked most of the delicate buds which are 
here unfolded. 

After leaving college, he returned to his native 



xx Introductio n . 

town, where he spent a year making the acquain- 
tance of Concord's transcendent Sage. He was 
occasionally at Emerson's fireside ; enjoyed the use 
of his library ; and partook copiously of his phil- 
osophy. In a letter written in 1843 t0 Thoreau, 
which appears in Sanborn's life of the hermit of 
Walden Pond, Emerson says : " Young Ball (B. 
W.) has been to see me, and is a prodigious reader, 
and a youth of great promise." The poetical side 
of Emerson impressed him strongly ; and traces of 
this influence appear frequently in his writings. 
His feeling ode (page 48) In Memoriam of this 
distinguished pilot of his youth attests the lasting 
deep esteem and deeper fondness with which he 
still cherishes his memory. 

To -winding Concord's pleasant vale 
Through all the countless future years, 
Hadjis devout will never fail, 
Though nought above his grave appears 

But flowery sward and simple stone, 
Such as a sage's rest beseem, 
Asleep amid the pine woods lone, 
Beneath whose boughs he loved to dream. 

There still the Evening Star will shine 
With beams as bright as lured his youth 
The city's tumult to resign 
For high and holy quest of truth. 

Onward his Indian stream will run 
Through pensive plain and meadow green 
But not in all the years will one 
Like him upon its marge be seen 



Introduction. xxi 

To Ball, Emerson was more poet than philoso- 
pher, and even his philosophy " leaned to Poetry's 
side." 

The poet is a non-conformist ; all things, all men, 
therefore, conform to him. He leads without fol- 
lowing. When battle must be made, he is the first 
to strike. As Ball says of Byron and Shelley : 

They felt the impulse, wild and free 

Of Europe bent on liberty ; 

While through their glowing numbers came 

The Revolution's breath of flame. 

The poet turns under old turf, that fresh flowers 
may spring. He sows without knowing who shall 
reap ; and never hears the final echo of his song. 
Whatever he touches, changes color ; while what- 
soever touches him, is melted up by his magic 
fire, and blown forth into the " glass of fashion." 
Appearances and experiences are moulded ever 
into new forms, which transcend experience. The 
thread and thrum of the universe are woven into 
brocade of every archetype and tint in the loom of 
thought. 

Very much that passes current under the title of 
poetry in these days, is without character and 
frivolous. In common with institutions and men 
of like construction, such productions, like froth 
on a glass of ale, rise to the top from very lightness ; 
there to laugh and hiss and sputter for a moment ; 
to be blown away by a breath, or to vanish in thin 
air ; while the rich and ponderous ale lies sleeping 
underneath. 



xxii Introduction. 

The great office of poetry is to make all men 
poets ; to break the chains by which we are bound 
to facts and limits, and set us free ; to open the 
doors of this world of prisons, and let us forth. 
The torch and keys have been delivered to the 
poet. Man is larger than his cage ; wider than 
himself ; higher and deeper than the universe that 
meets his gaze. Enlargement is what he needs 
and covets still. Not talent, but size. Breadth as 
well as length. To this end, the telescope and 
not the microscope. Farsightedness comes from 
looking at great distances. All this requires room, 
more room. Mountain heights, with views of the 
horizon the compass round. Extraspection instead 
of introspection. Though " the Universe is the 
mirror of the soul," not all has yet been imaged. 
The poet supplies us with space. We are led out 
and aloft, where we can see. Poetry that may lead 
us thus, is sky-born, and must cling to the skies. 
It must, therefore, first above all things possess 
that serious nature or anovdaiort]^ of Aristotle, 
which Matthew Arnold translates into " high seri- 
ousness." This quality is among the most attract- 
ive and omnipresent of Ball's charms. The Ionian 
Wise Men, page 356, exclaim : 

Our guide was reason-regulated sense, 

To which eternal Truth unmasks her charms ; 

Through Nature's veil we saw Omnipotence 
Upholding all things with unwearied arms. 

We knew ourselves, and, diving, found within 
A depth as fathomless as that above, — 



Introduction. xxiii 

We knew that right and justice only win ; 
Their law with being's fibre is inwove. 

The beauteous towns are dust, where we abode ; 

They crumbled 'neath the footfalls of the years ; 
Yet still the cloudless heavens which o'er them glowed 

Are shining down with their unmouldering spheres. 

And like those ancient heavens our words survive, 
Because they syllable the truth of things ; 

For goods which lure the herd we did not strive ; — 
'T was wisdom, reason, gave our thoughts their wings. 

For a beautiful expression of this quality, the 
last two verses of Homer's Anthropomorphism are 
unsurpassed. 

Dewdrops as of dawn eternal 

On the myths of Homer lie ; 
» Back from age of science, reason, 

To his fable-world we fly ; 
In his beauteous dreams, illusions 

Bathe as in some fount of youth ; 
Gladly barter for their freshness 

All the trophies won by Truth. 

But to Homer, too, did conscience 

Teach the lore of right and wrong ; 
Dictates of the higher reason 

Dominate his epic song. 
E'en his gods, like men, a higher 

Power than their own wills did own, 
Not in terms of mortal nature 

To be imaged or made known. 

Here, too, is a tender sorrow over our farewell to 
the Myths, after we have been kidnapped by knowl- 



XXIV 



Introduction. 



edge. This " high seriousness " in Ball is often 
inwoven with a certain sadness which in fact per- 
vades much of his poetry ; not the melancholy of 
Gray, nor the despair of Motherwell ; perhaps only 
the vibrations of that endless chain of sadness which 
rolls over all finite existence. In the colloquy 
between the Nightwind and Poet, page 208, this 
feeling perhaps finds its strongest expression ; and 
as a true picture of that loneliness with which 
humanity is at times oppressed, will not fail to touch 
the sympathies of the reader. 



Vain are all things human, mortal, 

Seems your gusty moan to say ; 
Like to leaves man's generations 

Feel the blight of swift decay. 
Like to leaves his hopes are blasted 

By the frost of chill mischance — 
Vainly 'gainst his limits strives he, 

Thrall of fate and circumstance. 



NIGHTWIND. 

What is earth but one vast charnel, 

Dust of fleeting tribes of men 
Sinking back into her bosom, 

Since the flight of years began ? 
Whatsoe'er they did or suffered, 

Lethe claimed them all at last — 
I, the Nightwind, unforgetting, 

Chant their requiem with my blast. 



Introduction. xxv 



Airy minstrel of the midnight, 

General wailer o'er the dead, 
Annual filling earth and heaven 

With thy moans for all things fled, 
Never sang a human poet 

Strains so weirdly sad as thine, 
Strains that with a wild emotion 

Thrill this lonely heart of mine. 

But these feelings never degenerate into pessim- 
ism, or one-sidedness. His poems retain the hope- 
fulness and energy of youth, although most of them 
were written after his youth was past. As was said 
of Marlowe, he sings, 

" With mouth of Gold and morning in his eyes." 

Largeness and force are traits salient and striking 
above all else in his poetry. Largeness in imagina- 
tion and grasp of thought ; and force of similitude 
and expression. Combined with these is a chaste 
and delicate sense of the mysterious display of 
beauty throughout all nature, which will not fail 
to hold the reader captive. This union cf great 
strength with beauty in congenial wedlock, 

l * Uplifting strength and beauty richly wrought," 

is rare in a poet ; leastwise to the like extent that 
we discover it in Ball. Witness the verses on page 
153, under the modest caption of Lines. 

A few fresh flakes of wintry snow, 

'T is true ray unthinned locks bestrow. 



xxvi Introduction. 

Whilst thou, by whom my heart is rent, 

All may-bloom art and lilac scent. 

Breathes round thee, darling, soft and low. 

Of youth the violet-perfumed wind ; 

Again I feel my bosom glow 

With dreams I thought were left behind. 

But ah ! 't will never fade nor die, 

Love's passionate idolatry. 

Where blooms a form as fair as thine, 

He buildeth, as of old, his shrine ! 

Keeping time with these qualities is his original- 
ity. New keys are pitched, and old tunes are not 
thrummed through new variations. True poetry is 
a symbol or manifestation of force which is persis- 
tent. It acts as a stimulant, and re-creates itself. 
We are lighted and set on fire ; and though the 
manifestation in us may not take the form of written 
poems, life will cease to be prose, and we discover 
that we are both poem and poet. 

The reigning element of this force is originality. 
For that which is new to us, sets us in motion, and 
we become new to ourselves. Poetry which lacks 
this element may tickle the senses, and please the 
fancy ; but its effect is lethean, and we sleep Ball 
is free from any symptoms of what Carlyle terms 
"the paralysis of cant." He is the sole proprietor 
of his methods ; and himself wholly in his concep- 
tions and imagery. His poetry is " steeped through- 
out with a certain keen and pungent individuality, 
which leaves a haunting impression behind it." 
His style is forceful, bold, and often caustic ; yet 
unaffected and clear ; abounding in a variety of 



Introduction. xxvii 

metres, in which he writes with ease and skill. He 
has what Bradley calls " the gift of style, and of 
making words sing " ; and what Gosse describes as 
" audacity of thought, and the thunders of a massive 
line." Ball is both an ancient and a modern. A 
life of devotion to the products of Greek civiliza- 
tion, has given him a masterful grasp of things 
Hellenic, to which the unique assortment of poems 
under the title of " Hellenics " amply testifies. 
These lyrics delineate the customs, life, and habits 
of the ancient Greeks ; their philosophy and 
religion ; their struggles in peace and war, their 

" isle-sown sea and temple-crested shore " ; 

including a number of translations from their im- 
mortals. I do not discover anything in all his 
writings of more pleasing excellence than his ode 
to Hellas, page 273, which appears to be a sort of 
dedication of the Hellenics. 

Behind her long-drawn, serried columns gleam 
Uplifting strength and beauty richly wrought, 

While marble altars waft a fragrant steam 

Of Orient myrrh from lands of morning brought. 

The volumed vapors roll in light away, 
O'er isle-sown sea and temple-crested shore, 

While oread-haunted in her summer's ray, 
Her thymy mountains tower for evermore. 

These Hellenian flowers, gathered from the 
graves of those whose monuments will never crum- 



xxviii Introduction. 

ble nor wear away, are perhaps the deepest colored 
and sweetest-scented of all his collection. 

No impression half as deep has been made upon 
him from any source as from the aroma of that daz- 
zling civilization, with which he became intoxicated. 
On the other side, Ball is a modern of still higher type. 
Having grown up with the sciences and philosophy, 
he has kept en rapport with their development. He 
is an entire convert to the doctrines of evolution as 
last and best stated ; and to the philosophy that has 
been erected upon those doctrines, as far as the 
edifice has been constructed, cutting loose as much 
as may be from an anthropomorphic philosophy 
and religion. See the poem entitled Herschel's 
Star-Clusters, page 245, where, in explaining the 
all pervasive influence of law and order throughout 
the universe, he proclaims : 

Through boundless space and boundless time 

That sternest order reigneth, 
And into one harmonious Whole 

Atoms and orbs constraineth, — 
Through galaxies of countless suns 

Drear space like gold-dust strowing ; 
Through nebulae, those clouds of worlds 

In starry strata glowing, — 

The same unwearied forces work 

And make whole systems blossom 
In stellar clusters like the flowers 

Upon our planet's bosom ; 
For nebulous vapors far away, 

On optic glasses looming, 
Are garden-beds of nascent worlds 

Like banks of violets blooming. 



Introduction. xxix 

O Force of forces, Heart of hearts 

In central mystery beating ; 
Though everywhere in star and clod, 

From eye of sense retreating ; — 
The forms that fade are still renewed ; 

The fire of life burns ever ; 
Thee from the glowing universe, 

Nor time nor space can sever. 

Here truly, in the words of Emerson, Ball 
*' strings worlds like beads upon his thought." 

Ball is of the larger mould of men ; a cosmopolite 
of nature. No compromise with mediocrity ; and 
no negotiations with the distorted spirits of barbaric 
ancestors, whose grinning, ghastly skulls are still 
dangled before us, that we may shrink and wince. 
To him is wonderment that the children of this 
generation should creep and cringe at the mere sight 
of a whip hung over their heads by men whose " ex- 
sufflicate and blown surmises," and fusty philosophy, 
long since decayed, have mingled and become one 
with the hydrogen of their bones. From the dark 
ages we came forth in darkness. Then came the 
age of candles — more candles than light. The era 
of candles is now fading away, because we have 
turned on the light of this century, which is the 
light of lightning. The poet's torch is now illumi- 
nated by the fearful spark ; and, soaring higher, 
the " winged man " bears us gently with him, still 
teaching us to fly. Poetry is the wings of thought, 
on which we are wafted higher than thought alone 
can reach. 



xxx Introduction. 

Albeit Ball is an enthusiastic pioneer in the 
search for truth, ever ready to put the axe to 
the tree that is dead, he is no wanton iconoclast, 
delighting to destroy. He does not go slashing 
about with a stick among the daisies. With trained 
experience and a skillful hand, he applies the 
pruning-hook where ignorance or superstition has 
cropped out in the tree of knowledge. He stands 
in the first rank of those who are convinced that the 
spirit which winged us up from the prairies does 
not part with its wings ; that the Garden of Eden 
lies beyond, and not behind us ; and that the cata- 
rhine ape and slimy monster of the Ocean tides are 
the Hell from which we sprang. 

Poetry is still the loveliest maid mankind has 
wooed. Her lips are " wreathed with smiles " ; 
her voice is gentle, and her thought sincere. By 
whistling brooks and Ocean's thundering shores her 
paths are laid ; while through the storms of life her 
hand is seen stretched out towards the weary ; 
holding up the overburdened by their lot. To 
this " Goddess of bright dreams," humanity will 
still return, " when other helpers fail " and pale 
away, to light their path and lighten their load ; to 
drown violence with her singing, and misery with 
her tears ; to teach them that they fall from the 
breasts of the Mighty Mother, only to be caught in 
her lap ; to point them through the night in the 
direction of the dawning morning ; the immortal 
songstress of their faith and their hopes. 

Such is my faith in the omnipresence of poetic 



Introduction* xxxi 

nature in man, and such my measure of the excel- 
lence of the poems here presented to the public, 
that I may be pardoned for venturing to indulge 
the belief that these full, clear notes of this Swan 
of the Merrimack will not fail to discover them- 
selves already pouring forth their original harmonies 
in the hearts of many. 

F. F. A. 
New York, May, 1892. 



TO THE MERRIMACK RIVER, 



CD EST on thy banks were sweet to him 

A ^ Whose youth thy gleaming waters knew, 

While requiem sang thy pine boughs dim, 

And dreamed o'erhead thy skies of blue. 
Thou art to me the stream of streams, 

Thou and thy storied confluent clear. 
Thy flow brings back of youth the dreams, 

And many a youth-time comrade dear. 



'T were sweet with such to be at rest 

By thee, O mountain-cradled river ; 
To find the peace in earth's green breast, 

Which harassed life is craving ever. 
Here while with scented breeze and flower 

Beguiles the saunterer's step young May, 
I cast me down an idle hour 

Upon thy banks to while away. 

Thy darkling wood-paths are as still 
As found I them in days of yore, 

When tired of streets I took my fill 
Of solitude upon thy shore. 



To the Merrimack River. 

Thy pine-plumed steeps and waters wear 
The old familiar look, but when 

Along the city's streets I fare, 
I see not the familiar men. 

For Nature stays with changeless mien, 

While men forever come and go — 
New faces haunt the old-time scene 

We haunted in the long-ago. 
The spot remains with earth and sky, 

Unchanged around, beneath, above, 
But saddening with its vacancy 

Of comrades gone, we used to love. 

But on thy marge, O glorious stream, 

Let me not yield to mood of gloom. 
What though thy waters still will gleam 

Unaltered, when I 've met my doom ? 
Thou art a mere insensate thing, 

A creature of the cloud and air, 
And to thy shores did I not bring 

A seeing eye, thou wert not fair. 

Thy sunny ripples, what are they 

If not sensations bright in me ? 
The light of spirit makes thee stray 

In long-drawn glory to the sea, 
As if thou wert a living might, 

A conscious movement, ceaseless, grand, 
From thy far natal mountain height, 

E'en to the ocean's deltaed strand. 



Where Are the Dead ? 



WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 

IX/HERE are the dead? or are we sparks, — 

naught more, — 
From mindless matter ever upward flung, 
And ever falling back to whence we sprung, 
Brief gleams of conscious life like fireflies o'er 
Midsummer meads, that flash thro' twilight dun ? 
If all still live who e'er were born, no shore 
Of bliss or woe, which olden poets sung, 
Can hold the endless throngs which thither pour. 
But disembodied spirits may not know 
Or space or time, our limitations here — 
To some undreamed-of, unimagined sphere 
Of psychic being journeying hence may go, 
Where lapsing hours, days, years, no longer flow, 
But we, pure energies, forever glow. 

Where are the dead '? In mouldering bivouac laid 
Beneath the sods, expecting trump of doom 
At length to break the torpor of the tomb, 
And with dread clangor summon every shade 
To Rhadamanthine judgment, tremulous, afraid ? 
Whence some depart where flowers Elysian bloom 
In endless summer, others penal fires consume, 
But end not, fires no mercy e'er allayed. 
Where are the dead? Returning evermore 
After a draught of Lethe to rebreathe 



4 Where Are the Dead ? 

The breath of life, again to bask beneath 
The light of sun and star, beholding o'er 
And o'er again spring's budding wreath 
Of blossoms, summer, fall, and winter hoar ? 

Where are the dead? On endless journey bound, 
Star-travelling pilgrims through eternal space, 
Whose unreturning flight is ever found 
Still farther on to some new tarrying-place ? 
To whom no orb becomes familiar ground, 
But only milestone in their goalless race, 
Which pauses not at many a gulf profound 
'Twixt galaxies of starless interspace ? 
Than such appalling flight more sweet would seem 
The rest and joys of old Elysiums fair, 
Whereof the bards of other days did dream, 
Green isles and meads, that basked in stormless 

air, 
Where life was easy without toil or care, 
And darkness veiled not festal daylight's beam. 

Where are the dead? Transmigratory round 
Of all earth's forms running, now grovelling low 
In bestial shapes, and now reclimbing slow 
To human, till at last released, unbound 
From miseries of personal life, they know 
Nirvana's apathy and calm profound ? 
With many an answer thus the creeds o'erflow. 
Though ne'er returning traveller was found 
From the Undiscovered Country's bourne to say 
What lot or destiny awaits us there, 



Asia to America. 

When sweet vicissitude of night and day 
Leaving, we on Death's exodus shall fare 
Into a gloom, where glimmers not a ray 
To gild the darkness of sepulchral air. 



ASIA TO AMERICA. 

'"THOU swallowest Europe's dregs without a 
* qualm, 

But at my gnat with a wry face dost strain — 
Her unkempt peasants to thy borders swarm 

And thou to welcome them art ever fain. 

Thou call'st thy grandame Asia heathen, when 
Thy creed was plucked a feather from my crest — 

My populous loins could people earth again, 
While unsunned riches lurk within my breast. 

Mother of dead empires, e'en yet I feel 

My future with a mightier grandeur fraught — 

I sleep, but through my slumber visions steal, 
Wherewith compared thy brightest are as naught. 

A tongue of land between the oceans pent, 

What are thy narrow limits matched with mine ? 

Measures a hemisphere my continent, 

While barren sea- waves crowd and jostle thine. 

Europe and thou a howling waste would be, 

Had not my Aryans westward streamed of yore, 

Your boastful tribes are stragglers all from me ; 
Kelt, Teuton, red-man, I remotely bore. 



Humanity ; or, The Colossal Man. 

Though old no wrinkles corrugate my brow — 
From fount of morning drink I vigor still, — 

While through my giant limbs I feel e'en now 
The New Time's spirit like a wine-cup thrill. 



HUMANITY ; OR, THE COLOSSAL MAN. 

P'EN the moiety of it breathing, 
*— ' Stirring in the cheerful light, 
Passes third of life unconscious, 

Sunk in slumbers of the night. 
But the dead and gone, the vanished, — 

Who can count the dim host o'er, 
All the shadowy generations 

Who have flourished heretofore ? 

All together, dead and living, 

Since the human shape began, 
Organ of self-conscious spirit, 

Form one vast Colossal Man. 
Cave-roofed, dwelt he in the twilight 

Of the prehistoric time ; 
Beast-like first, he gradual lifted 

From the earth a front sublime. 

Growth diffused o'er countless ages 
And the round of earthly space, 

Still o'er death and change triumphant, 
Upward moves the human race. 



Humanity ; or, The Colossal Man. 

Many-climed and hued and tongued it 
Is the same at heart and core, 

Wheresoe'er its tribes and races 
Zones of earth are scattered o'er. 

Vanguard of it, beauty, genius, 

Make like fabled angels seem ; 
While its rearward, low-browed, bestial, 

Scarce of reason shows a gleam. 
O'er it toiling, sinning, warring, 

Striving happiness to taste, 
Shine the silent constellations 

In the heavens' boundless waste. 

Yawns the earth beneath it marching, 

Hides its tired ones evermore ; 
While, to fill its thinned ranks, new-born, 

Eager generations pour. 
Still need, greed, desire, and foresight, 

And ideal longings vain, 
Keep its myriads in motion, 

Seeking pleasure, shunning pain. 

'T is a product, evolution 

Of creative, nameless Power — 
Slowly, slowly 't is unfolded 

More and more to perfect flower. 
First by sense with bright illusions 

'T was environed in its youth, 
But, at length by Reason guided, 

Bows it now to sway of Truth. 



Names. 



NAMES. 

IVTAMES are indeed but smoke that hide the 

* ^ glow 
Of heaven, the poisonous breath of ages flown, 
When neither earth nor heaven were truly known 

And roof'd fond man a godful sky-arch low. 

Though that is gone, dull bigots still repeat 
The empty formulae of creeds outworn, 
As if to fixed ideas the race was born 

And Dulness o'er us held perpetual seat. 

Blow, breath of Reason, with a cyclone's might, 
And sweep the rubbish of the past away ! 
While earthwide flashes thy meridian day 

Purging of every tribe the mental sight. 

Cumber the earth too long a Church and State 

Which own no ties with things of current date. 



EUROPE— AMERICA. 



PROEM. 



"CUROPE, no more art thou personified 
*- / By maiden of the Grecian myth, whom o'er 
The waves with fluttering vesture Jupiter 
Bore tauriform : thou art a matron now, 
With ripened and imperial loveliness, 



Eu rope — A merica . 9 

But lines of thought and care are furrowed in 

Thy queenly face. Though full of historied years, 

And many-era'd, grand experiences, 

Thou still refusest to be old, to lower 

Thy haughty glance, proud with the consciousness 

Of domination wide as earth, in sign whereof 

Thy brow upbears a towery diadem, 

Such as the ancient Mountain Mother wore, 

When lion-drawn she through the nations rode, 

Largess of roses on her car receiving 

From roofs and pinnacles idolatrous ; 

And not alone thine eye imperiousness 

Of martial sway rays forth, but of a rule 

More high, august, — reason's supremacy, 

Prerogative of thine Aryan colonists. 

A bright auroral beam begins to touch 

Thy forehead with purpureal light, the glow 

Of freedom, which thy daughter o'er the sea 

Hath from her cradle known — thy daughter soon 

To be thy peer. Palladian beauty marks 

Her even now, the port of empire large, 

As she confronts thee with unquailing glance. 

Her head is filleted with coronal 

Of maize-ears, scarlet foliage ; she stands 

Upon a mountain's brow, with sky above 

Unfathomably deep of breezy blue, 

And gazes dreamily o'er landscape vast, 

Autumnal, iridescent, — forests, streams, 

And lakes, and yellowing harvest-fields and blue 

Sierras in the distance gleaming dim 



I o Europe — A mcrica. 

A landscape half-reclaimed from sylvan shade, 
Where natures wild and tame jostle each other, 
But lifting heavenward many a dome and spire 
Of nascent city, young metropolis, 
With many-nationed, many-languaged throngs. 

What though an ocean rolls and roars between 
Europe, America ? That hinders not 
An intercontinental colloquy. 

But America is not Europe's child 
Purely : there is a native wildness in 
Her blood proper to sylvan hemisphere. 
The youngest of the mighty Aryan brood 
Of nations, she is the lithest, loveliest, 
With clearest eye, most hopeful, radiant. 

COLLOQUY. 

Eur op a. 

O crowned with tasselled maize and hidden long 
'Neath melancholy boughs, o'er waves unknown, 

The ministers of memory — History, Song — 
Your blank, inglorious centuries disown. 

America. 

Better my uneventful years than thine 

Gloom-fraught with deeds and superstitions dire ; 
Sweeter the whispers of my desert pine 

Than groans from dungeon, rack, and penal fire. 



Europe — America. II 

Europa. 

Thou speak'st of ugly things of long ago 

Now mouldering to dust, disused, outgrown : 

My forehead, too, with freedom's roseate glow 
At last begins to glimmer like thine own. 

America. 

I but flung back thy taunt : alas ! I, too, 
My hateful memories had, even before 

Thy dark Iberian bigots came and threw 
The gleam of torture-flames upon my shore. 

Europa. 

Thy later children throng with eager eyes 
My storied, battle-stricken soil ; where'er 

My gorgeous minsters, palaces, arise, 

With long, admiring gaze, they linger near. 

America. 

Ah, yes, my later children, — those who sprung 
Remotely from thy loins, — at times they feel, 

For the old lands by many a minstrel sung, 
A longing and homesickness o'er them steal ! 

Europa. 

A 

Not e'en the splendor of thy blue, blue heaven, 
The golden plenty of thy prairies vast, 

Nor perfect freedom, can my lingering leaven 
From out your new-world bosoms wholly cast. 



12 Europe — America. 

America. 

If memory's magic draws my sons to thee, 

Thine own are swarming hither, — those to whom 

Thou hast a harsh step-mother been, — they flee 
Westward, escaping a plebeian doom, 

Europa. 

My bounds are straitened, and I cast them forth 
Strong-armed and simple-hearted to thine aid : 

Thine untilled acres, east and west and north, 
Are by their toil in cereal gold arrayed. 

America. 

Alas ! thine outcasts hither to me bring 
The hates and bigotries of thy dark years ; 

In my free air to creeds they fiercely cling, 

Which drenched of old thy soil with blood and 
tears. 

Europa. 

A truce to taunts, O sister, young, serene, 

With Hesper glittering on thy cloudless brow, 

Who wear'st of hope the joyous, dauntless mien, 
While me dark memories and sorrows bow. 

America. 

Since science has our ocean-sundered shores 
Made touch and thrill, thy sorrows now are mine ; 

Errors and wrongs of eld my heart deplores ; 
Fate will henceforth our lots together twine. 



Europe — A mcrica. 1 3 

E'en now thy daughter France, whose lilies long 
Their gorgeous beauty spread o'er land and sea 

Has doffed the crown and, renovated, strong, 
At Freedom's board sits clothed and sane with 
me. 

Europa. 

If I with cares and wrinkles premature 

Thy youthful brow, perchance, have furrowed 
o'er, 

My myriad martyrs did for thee endure 

Fierce struggle, wrong and death, in days of yore. 

America. 

I was a care-free, sylvan maiden then, 

Listening the pine-tree's whispers in the wild ; 
Roaming o'er prairie, lake, and reedy fen, 

While gleamed the hunter's moon with lustre 
mild. 
The lavish splendors of my autumn skies, 

My woods and streams, not wholly wasted were : 
Beneath my mystic mounds now moulder eyes 

And hearts which they to poesy could stir. 

Europa. 

For thee far back I battled, thought, and sung — 
To make thee mistress of a birthright grand 

In thy green wilderness, my trumpets rung 
At Marathon, the breeze my banners fanned. 



1 4 Europe — A merica. 

America. 

O mother, more than sister, — sister great ! 

Thy martyrs, heroes, taught to me the lore 
Of liberty, for thee shall ne'er abate 

My love, my sons ne'er cease to hail thy shore. 

Europa. 

No diadem thy radiant forehead wears, 
All else of power's insignia are thine ; 

The rods of empire Fate before thee bears 

Where'er the sun's descending splendors shine. 

America. 

Though sad, reluctant, I, indeed, can wield 

The pitiless sword with strong and mailed hand ; 
But not for conquest grasp I falchion shield, 

With amplest bounds, wherein to breathe, ex- 
pand. 
Nor helmet plumed, nor trump's defiant peal 

E'er me delighted ; never at my feet 
Longed I to see the nations vanquished kneel, 

But rather knit to me in concord sweet. 

My starry 'scutcheon in his taloned grasp 
The eagle proudly bears o'er land and sea ; 

For I was reared in conflict, — despot's clasp 
But for my sword had never left me free. 

Therefore I used it ; but I ever yearned 
My warlike panoply to cast aside, 



Europe — A mcrica. 1 5 

And where the husbandman his furrows turned 
Olives of peace to foster far and wide. 

Europa. 

The conqueror's banner on its staff droops low, 
Me glory's glamor can allure no more ; 

But still in strife the nations' blood must flow, 
And still be heard the deep-mouthed cannon's 
roar, 

Till force barbaric shall to reason yield, 
And Truth her sunbright gonfalon upraise 

From morn to sunset, — then the embattled field 
With fires of carnage will no longer blaze. 

America. 

Though still unfallen palace, minster stand, 
Their gray walls are but relics of the past ; 

Some spasm of freedom their proportions grand 
Will soon or late in ruins o'er thee cast. 

Eur op a. 

It matters not ; for thought's ideals new 
Upon my breast will fairer fabrics rear, — 

The o'ermastering soul, from which their builders 
drew 
Their plans and art, forever hovers near. 

New forms of beauty still it gives to earth, 
Leaving its shrines outworn to dull decay ; 



1 6 Black Care. 

From ruin's wreck evolves a fairer birth, 
And with fresh vesture doth each age array. 

Where are the temples of the Hellene old, 
Which on my bosom proudly once I bore ? 

Their beauty vanished as the centuries rolled, 
Or, crushed and fallen, charms the eye no more ; 

And sun-smit Cross, like Dorian column lone, 
Will yet in dust an outworn emblem lie 

Through all the lands where ages long it shone, — 
Faith's radiant hieroglyph in middle sky. 



BLACK CARE. 

Post equitem sedet atra cura. — HORACE. 

(~\F yore the cavalier bestriding 

^S His martial steed found Care behind, 

His saddle-fellow with him riding, 

Though galloped he more fleet than wind. 

O'er land or sea, where'er we 're going, 
Dark Care, thou art our shadow still ; 

When bliss our cup is overflowing, 
Yet hintest thou of coming ill. 

Thou pointest to Death's solemn portal, 
Sad terminus of our swift years, 

Which background of all vistas mortal 
With murky shadows veiled appears. 



Black Care, 17 

Thou show'st the cypress darkly waving 
Beyond the myrtle, rose, and vine ; 

With furrows brow of youth art graving ; 
Thee long can drowse nor sleep nor wine. 

Their fumes dispelled, again thou stingest 
With sharper pangs the heavy heart. 

'Neath ceilings gilt thy flight thou wingest — 
'T is wealth most fears thy subtle dart. 

For what an hour may bring none knoweth ; 

From sky serene the bolt may fall ; 
The best-laid schemes chance overthroweth, 

And fate is arbiter of all. 

It matters not how solid, fair, 
The fabric of our homes we rear, 

Still haunts their portals gloomy Care, 
And still the lightning's flash we fear. 

In sunnier ages long ago 

Men's days like streamlets wound along, 
No aim austere was pleasure's foe, 

But living then was sport and song. 

But never more may men revert 
To that long gone Arcadian time, 

When conscience had no sting to hurt, 
And earth was in its sensuous prime. 



1 8 The Spirit Realm. 

THE SPIRIT REALM. 

Nach jenem stillen, ernsten Geisterreich. — Goethe. 



A FTER long years of life a mystic yearning 
**• Such as the mighty Goethe felt of yore, 
Within our heart of hearts at times is burning, 
For vanished faces which return no more. 



ii. 

Beyond this being's ceaseless, sad mutations, 
In stillness lies the solemn Spirit-land ; 

There evermore arrive Earth's generations, 
And footing find upon a changeless strand. 

in. 

So deems the heart, and so have deemea the 
Ages — 

To final peace and permanence we 're bound. 
This petty mortal life, which frets and rages, 

Is by majestic Silence girt around. 



The Inevitable End, 19 



THE INEVITABLE END. 

A T length we 've done the work of life, 
**■ Or failed aught to achieve — 
We 've won the prizes of its strife, 
Or crownless, palmless grieve. 

The time of hope, achievement o'er, 

We wait at last the end, 
While earth is hillocked more and more 

With mounds of foe and friend. 

Henceforth the downward path we tread, 
Which slopes unto the grave — 

For rose and myrtle, soon o'erhead 
The cypress dark will wave. 

The cloister once and hermit's cell 

Declining mortals sought, 
And there, while shades of evening fell, 

With prayer salvation bought. 

Washed from their hands the stains of fight 

In solitude's repose, 
On bended knees awaited night, 

The inevitable close. 

Perchance 't was not unwisely done 
To fly from vain turmoil — 



20 Illusion. 

A little space ere set of sun 
To cease from hate and toil. 

Contrition, too, might well in tears 

Of penitence o'erflow 
At retrospect of backward years 

With passions fierce aglow. 

Save of the soul all voices then 
Might well excluded be, 

In holy stillness far from men 
To face death's mystery. 

To higher nature deference 't was, 
This final, contrite mood, 

To those eternal, inner laws 
Of Beauty, Truth, and Good. 



ILLUSION. 

T^AR off the Azure ever lies, 

* The dreamy Blue, which lures to roam, 

Out there arrived the cheated eyes 

The charm behold transferred to home. 

Dull fetters are the Here and Now, 
Which from us we would rend away ; 

The Past, the Future only glow 

In Hope and Memory's golden ray. 



Words. 2 1 

Our feet thus find, nor pause nor rest — 
Alert Illusion keeps them still — 

Thus ever towards the fleeing West 
Our mareh we take o'er plain and hill. 

Sink cold and dark the shades at length — 
To lure us Hope and Fancy cease ; 

While calls to halt our waning strength, 
Our tents we pitch and are at peace. 



WORDS. 

Winged words. — Homer. 

A RTICULATED air we yet outlive 
-**■ Memorial bronze and marble's sculptured 

brightness ; 
To thoughts of sages, bards, we pinions give 
And buoy them through the ages with our light- 
ness. 

Through gates of sense on airy plumes we glide 
Into the unseen spirit's daedal mansion ; 

With speed its mystic valves unfolding wide 
For our ingress with friendliest expansion. 

Along sensation's thoroughfares we run, 

Thought's dome our music thrills with sweet 
vib-ration, — 

Two worlds of matter, spirit, into one 
Are knit and married by our mediation. 



22 TJie Youthful Dead. 



THE YOUTHFUL DEAD. 

They die young, whom the gods love. 

Old Greek Saying. 

l\TO process slow of dull decay 

*■ ^ The fire of life abated, 

With garlands fresh and dewy, they 

Its banquet left unsated ; 
They vanished in the mists of death, 

Ere o'er them fell a shadow — 
And now they draw immortal breath 

In happy isle or meadow. 

More blest than we, who mourned their fate, 

These guests, who early hasted, 
They lingered not like us too late, 

But left the lees untasted, 
They quaffed the bubbles on the brim 

From beakers full and flowing ; 
Our mirth was hushed — our eyes were dim 

With tears at their outgoing. 

But soon we wiped our tears away — 

Again the viol sounding 
Bade joy resume its festal sway, 

And kept our bosoms bounding, — 
Long since the noise of revel died, 

Our pulses lost their madness 



The Dipper. 23 

And in the calm of eventide 
We feel the touch of sadness. 

From that boon country in the south, 

To which they sped before us, 
Oft come those long-lost mates of youth 

In dreams, and hover o'er us, — 
Our locks are gray — our hearts are worn, 

Care e'en our sleep invadeth — 
They come from bowers of Youth and Morn, 

Where leaf nor blossom fadeth. 

They come with scents and airs of May, 

These guests from vales Elysian — 
They shun the din and glare of day 

And haunt the nightly vision. 
O well for us that Dreamland opes 

At times its mystic portal 
Through which, rekindling fading hopes, 

Glide visitants immortal. 



THE DIPPER. 

T N eastern skies 

*■ Nightly mine eyes 
Uplift the seven stars behold ; 

With sullen gleam, 

Ready they seem 
To fall fraught with plagues manifold. 



24 The Dipper. 

Silent and lone, 

Right earthward prone, 
With look portentous do they hang— ^ 

Ready to smite 

With baleful light, 
As when the angel's trumpet rang, 

And founts and streams 

'Neath blasting beams 
Of the Star Wormwood shrank away. 

I do you wrong, 

O shining throng ! 
No fierce, apocalyptic ray 

From your far height 

This peaceful night 
Ye cast earth's dwellers to dismay. 

Still as of old, 

In night-skies cold, 
Your mystic watch-fires dimly burn 

Serving to guide 

O'er ocean wide, 
Whose wanderers to you nightly turn. 

In midnight's hour, 

With solemn power, 
On all who vigils keep ye shine ; 

Your starry spell 

No words can tell, 
Not e'en the poet's mightiest line. 



The F.arth and Man. 25 

There far away, 

O'er earth's decay 
And change, with beams undimmed you roll ; 

And e'en perchance 

Your radiant glance 
Will see her shrivelled as a scroll, 

While scathless you 

Your course pursue, 
Dim-twinkling through the vast of space, 

A group sublime 

Defying time 
To quench the splendor of your rays. 



THE EARTH AND MAN. 

•"THE theatre in space and scene 
* Of human struggle grim with fate, 
The old earth rolls unchanged, serene. 
Since Clio penned her earliest date. 

The heaven's azure still roofs o'er 
Her rolling orb with blue unworn ; 
Her oceans heave from shore to shore, 
As fresh a surge as in her morn. 

Man, whom through space she swiftly buoys 

In bright gyration round the sun, 

Ideal longing urges on 

From change to change ; him old truth cloys, 



26 Madre Nat lira. 

And ever new truth must be won ; 
Still Freedom claims him for her son, 
And waves her banner bright to lure 
Him up to Reason's daylight pure. 

From Superstition's orgies wild 
And brutal force she weans her child. 
With gradual enticement mild : 
Her final triumph is secure. 



MADRE NATUFvA.* 

'""FHE saints maligned thee, Mother Nature dear, 
*■ Blind to thy beauties manifold ; 
And yet their New Jerusalems appear 

Decked with your verdure, flowers and gold. 

'Neath earthlike shade of foliage ever green 

Their Paradisal rivers glide — 
Earth's lineaments are found in every scene 

Apocalyptic John descried. 

What world can lovelier apparel show 
Than dew-bespangled sward of June, 

Than blue of May-time's heaven, with light aglow 
Of sun or evening's plenilune ? 



* Name of a secret Italian society, one of whose objects was 
the restoration of its primitive nature worship in Italy. 



Madre Natura. 27 

Thy benediction, mighty mother, steals 

On lonely hearts in solitude ; 
Thy peace, that passeth knowledge, gently heals 

The unkindest blows of fortune rude. 

Thine azure distances forever fair, 

With magical allurement woo — 
Ideal worlds suggest, aloof from care, 

Far in thy heaven's empyreal blue. 

Thy punctual morn, with far-hurled beams of light 
From dreamland rouses consciousness, 

And through the starry dark the dews of night 
With brief oblivion mortals bless. 

From thee the mystic heart and spirit sprung 

Of wondrous man by slow degrees. 
Him gavest thou his swift, articulate tongue, 

To music turning all he sees. 

The sense of beauty, truth, and justice thou 

Didst in his spirit's texture weave, 
And, crowned with reason-beaming eye and brow, 

Didst column-like his form upheave. 

In fallen Eleusis worshipped thee of yore 

Primeval man with honors due. 
A stole besprent with stars your image wore ; 

Your tresses were of wheaten hue. 



28 Morgcnroth. 



MORGENROTH. 

TU\ ORNING'S red, as fresh as ever, 
* * *• Fresh as when my life begun, 
Glowing in the orient heaven, 
Greets with roses rising sun. 
Morning's red — old mythic ages 
Deemed it Palace of the Dawn — 
Whence the ever-blooming Eos 
Sowed with pearls each mountain lawn ; 
Where in secret chamber hidden 
Old Tithonus, age-worn, lay, 
While the Dawn her coursers urging, 
Ushered in the new-born day, 
Rosy hours about her circling, 
As the misty earth below — 
Ocean, city, mountain, meadow — 
Kindled in the morning's glow. 



ABENDROTH. 

TV A Y skyey garden nightly blossoms fair 
I V 1 -with star-flowers tremulous and bright- 
It is a field of dewy, sunset air, 

Where riseth Hesperus to sight. 
I from my western window duly gaze, 

As sundown's splendor ebbs away, 



Long Ago. 29 

And see its mystic parterres bloom and blaze 
With night flowers knowing not decay. 

Into my silent, lonely, darkling room 

From azure spaces far they gleam, 
With their unwithering petals a perfume 

Of heaven dispensing as they beam ; 
Thicker and thicker on that field dark-blue 

They into fulgent blossoms break and shine 
In clusters sweet and mystical, which woo 

The vision with a charm divine. 

O radiant Gulistan of sunset air, 

My skyey garden in the West, 
Each night I see thee blooming brightly there, 

Where evening's red doth heaven invest ; 
I, thitherward intently gazing, seem, 

While softly whispers twilight's breeze, 
To see the Grecian poet's myth and dream, 

The Garden of the Hesperides. 



LONG AGO. 

BRIGHTER shone the summer sunshine 
Of the Junes of long ago, 
And with deeper crimson damasked 

Did the foretime's roses blow — 
Spread a fresher, dewier greensward 

Verdure of the years gone by — 
Hummed the bee a drowsier murmur — 
Soared aloft a bluer sky. 



30 Long Ago. 

Sang the poets sweeter measures 

Than the Present's minstrels know. 
Loftier, in the azure distance, 

Towered the mountains long ago ; 
Hearts were warmer, lips more kindly 

In the days that are no more ; 
Life, indeed, was worth the living 

In that jocund time of yore, 

Summer eves were softer, sweeter, 

Night sky had a starrier glow, 
Brighter over bards and lovers 

Shone the moons of long ago ; 
Raved the autumn wind more wildly, 

Whirling sere leaves to and fro ; 
Roof and pane more fiercely beating, 

Fell the rains of long ago. 

As in space, in time the distant 

Wears an azure, golden glow ; 
Thus, as farther off we leave it, 

Fairer seems the long ago. 
Memory conjures vanished faces 

From the dust where lie they low — 
As the years fly faster o'er us, 

Brighter shines the long ago. 

All its sorrows are forgotten, 

As far rough crags azure show — 

Dwells the world-worn heart with yearning 
On the things of long ago ; 



The Past. 31 

Like some strand of Faerie gleaming 
On the storm-tossed voyager's eye, 

More and more the heart alluring, 
Lie they there- — the days gone by. 



THE PAST. 

INTO the moonlight of the Past, 
* To silence deep subsiding, 
The Present with its uproar loud, 

Forevermore is gliding ; 
There, backward drifting more and more, 

Its men and things grow dimmer, 
Till what was once as sunshine clear 

Fades to a twilight glimmer. 

Thus time that is to time that was 

With noiseless lapse is changing, 
And we that live, to shadows turned, 

Will ghost-land soon be ranging ; 
As ranged of yore the phantoms thin, 

The lifeworn, spent and weary, 
The throngs unnumbered of the dead 

Through Homer's Hades dreary. 

The hours are brief while overhead 

The sun for us is shining ; 
Then wherefore brood upon the Past, 

For dead and gone repining ? 



32 The Lonely Mirror. 

We shall not fail its phantoms pale 

To join at last forever — 
At last to know the languid flow 

Of Lethe's fabled river. 

When we are gone the years will still 

Be coming and be going, 
The decades into centuries swell, 

No pause nor respite knowing, 
New eras take the place of old, 

Old things be wholly rotten. 
E'en this our current century then 

Long lapsed will be forgotten. 

Its modes, beliefs, and arts be strange 

To those far future ages, 
As modes which History's sire records 

Upon his hoary pages. 
For on thought's threshold still we stand, 

Brute instincts low obeying ; 
But Mind and Reason pure will yet 

Some future grand be swaying. 



THE LONELY MIRROR. 

i. 

"CROM beauty now nor glance nor smile 
-* My dusty surface winneth ; 
Its filmy web across my face, 

Unbrushed, the spider spinneth. 
A lonely mirror, here I hang, 

With nothing for reflection ; 



The Lonely Mirror. 33 

Though of Venetian glass, I wear 
An aspect of dejection. 

11. 

Ah me ! the charms of long ago, 

I imaged back so brightly ! 
In dusty crypts they moulder low, 

All noisome and unsightly. 
The eyes like stars, the locks like gold, 

Which once in me were gleaming — 
Ah ! might I such again behold 

As then before me beaming ! 

in. 

For I, a festal mirror, was 

Gay, joyous groups reflecting — 
Bright eyes into my lucid depths 

Their glances were directing. 
Before me, in their witching bloom, 

With wealth of beauty laden 
And wealth of tresses, often stood 

Full many a lovely maiden — 

IV. 

Sometimes at morn, en dishabille •, 

While dreams still round them hover ; 

Sometimes at eve, with charms arrayed 
For party, dance, or lover. 

But than their images in me 

They proved not more enduring : 



34 The Hunter s Moon. 

Their beauty was a fading flower 
As brief as 't was alluring. 

v. 

A lone, forsaken, old-time room 

I now am sadly glassing — 
No lightsome footsteps in and out, 

As long ago, are passing. 
The old house is accursed, they say, 

By restless spectre haunted. 
Why flits it not before my disk ? 

Me it would find undaunted. 

VI. 

I image back the creaking boughs, 

When autumn winds are blowing ; 
Their shadows all day long in me 

Are to and fro a-going. 
And when the moon is up, they wave 

In ghastly oscillation — 
E'en at the stir of trees I feel 

A sort of exultation. 



THE HUNTER'S MOON. 

TPHE hunter's moon, the hunter's moon, 
* A silver isle in dark blue skies, 
With not a cloud to dim its sheen 
Its spell to-night is on all eyes. 



Morning. . 35 

On mountain summits, cold and bare, 
On forests, lakes, and devious streams ; 
On cities, towns, and farmsteads lone 
She sheds all night her wizard beams. 

Though summer's foliage fallen lies 
Wind-piled in heaps o'er all the land, 
This mild November eve is like 
A May night with its south wind bland. 

A spell is on the earth and air 
Moon-wove, which makes us feel and know, 
Why 'neath her orb in homage knelt 
The fore-world's tribes of long ago ! 



MORNING. 

A H, how pleasant is the morning, 
**■ With its sunshine on the wall ; 
Broad awake the soul no longer 
Phantoms of the night appall. 
Earth from spell of starlight breaking 
Cheerful daylight life renews, 
While on flowers and grass-blades glisten, 
Gladdening vision, pearl-like dews. 



36 Autumnals. 



AUTUMNALS. 



THISTLEDOWN. 

\1 7AIF of August afternoon, 
* ^ Tiny gossamer balloon, 
Elfin pinnace drifting fair 
Through seas of soft and sunny air — 
When thou art launched, the summer sun 
His glowing task will soon have done ; 
Almost ripe the tasselled corn, 
While the cricket sings forlorn, 
Evening hath a breath more cool, 
Dead leaves drop in lowland pool. 
Soon the harvest moon will shine 
With a splendor as divine, 
With as tremulous a glow 
As bedewed Endymion's brow, 
Gleaming over wood and wave, 
As she gleamed in Latmian cave. 
With thy silken tackle trim 
And fitful buoyance, thou dost swim 
Leisurely, a vagrant sail 
Through this lovely, upland vale, 
Mountain-shadowed with a spell 
Of witchery no words can tell, 
Whence o'er yon ridge's giant spine 



Autumnah. 37 

'T is sweet to watch young Hesper shine. 
Thy noiseless, graceful flight I see, 
O Thistledown, regretfully, 
For with the northing of the sun 
The sweet, do-nothing days are done. 

II. 

THE AUGUST CRICKET. 

In the latter days of summer, 
When the thistledown is flying, 
An incessant, lonesome murmur 
From the withering fields and hedges, 
Through the long, long day arises, 
In the twilight waxing stronger, 
Till when moon and stars are beaming, 
In the stilly midnight watches, 
On the wakeful ear it pulses 
Lonesome, desolate, and dreary, 
As if earth her bloom had ended 
And the people all were dreaming 
From their couches ne'er to waken. 
But at length to moulder wholly 
Into ashes, dust, and darkness. 
'T is the herald of the autumn ; 
'T is the Yankee cicad's murmur ; 
'T is the August cricket singing 
Dirges o'er the waning summer, 
While the sobered, fading landscape 
Quivers with his tireless accent. 



38 Autumnals. 

in. 

FALL. 

The grain of Sarra soon will be 
On every hedge and every tree ; 
From autumn's beaker wine will flow 
Of richer tint and purpler glow 
Than southmost vintages can show, 
Aerial, lucent, welling clear 
From sun vats of the ripened year ; 
Wine, essence of all glorious things, 
Gushing from morn and sunset's springs, 
Blue skies and autumn's bracing airs ; 
From apples, peaches, plums, and pears, 
From rustling fields of golden maize, 
From rich October's gorgeous days ; 
Wine with aroma manifold, 
Such as cheered the age of gold, 
The cool, bright hydromel of fall 
In azure tun ethereal 
Fermented, which the weary brain 
Maketh to glow with thought again^- 
Driving all moodiness away— - 
Freshening its convolutions gray — 
Filling with breezy rapture all 
The dome of thought, its dsedal hall 
And subtle labyrinths, more fine 
Than Cretan artist could design. 
Queen Fall ! thou colorist superb, 
Turning to gold each humblest herb ; 
Here, far from equatorial heat, 



Traveller and Deserted House. 39 

The skies of palm lands thou dost beat, 

Pavilioning with deeper blue 

Our crags than Grecian Isles e'er knew. 



His gun the hunter will forget, 

As dries the wind his forehead wet, 

While from some breezy, mapled knoll 

He sees the fairy earth unroll 

Its misty, iridescent gold 

Of yellowing bovvers and ripened grain, 

Which clothe each far-stretched vale and plain 

With gleaming rivers winding through, 

And far Sierras faint and blue. 



TRAVELLER AND DESERTED HOUSE. 

Traveller. 

f^VLD House, on this upland standing, 
^-^ Through thy portals I would fain 
Find a shelter and a refuge 

From the wind and flooding rain. 
'T is the equinoctial tempest 

Strewing earth with withered leaves, 
Fierce it beats against thy gray front, 

Pours in torrents from thine eaves. 

Old House. 

I am lonely and deserted — 
'T was not thus in other dnvs ; 



40 Traveller and Deserted House. 

Ever on my warm hearth burning 

Flashed a hospitable blaze. 
Now through empty hall and chamber 

Raves the storm-wind wild and free ; 
Ghosts of vanished generations 

In the dim night haunting me. 

Traveller. 

I will wrap me in my blanket, 

On thy floor my tired limbs cast, 
List the pelting of the rain-drops, 

List the wailing of the blast. 
Tell me, Old House, of thy dwellers 

In the pleasant years long flown, 
When of human joy and sorrow 

-Here the accents still were known. 

Old House. 

Of a race of sturdy yeomen 

He was sire, my walls who reared ; 
Battling with primeval forest, 

Here a homestead fair he cleared. 
Sire and sons with nature wrestling, 

Year by year incessant toiled, 
Till subdued to human uses 

All the stern land bloomed and smiled. 

Rustled maize-fields, blossomed clover, 
Murmurous with hum of bees ; 

Waved aloft o'er roof and well-sweep 
Great elms in the summer breeze ; 



Traveller and Deserted House. 4 T 

Fluted orioles, sang the robins 
In the orchard eve-notes sweet ; 

Sealike heaved luxurious grasses 
And the billowing fields of wheat. 

From my greensward, cool and pleasant, 

Saw the gazer far away, 
Azure bulks of distant mountains 

Towering in the sunset's ray. 
Lakes in depths of woods secluded, 

Where the loon, shy recluse, dwells, 
Saw he and the gleam of hid streams 

Winding through the quiet dells. 

Here in wake of Thrift and Labor, 

Genius, beauty often sprung ; 
Mind athirst for utmost knowledge, 

Soul of poet, suasive tongue. 
Thus at times a youth descended 

From my threshold to the plain. 
To the stir of lowland city, 

Station, honor sure to gain. 

Once a poet 'neath my roof -tree 

In the days gone by was born, 
Fed his spirit stream and forest, 

Sun and starlight, night and morn. 
Loved he in his dreamy boyhood 

'Neath my rafters strong to lie, 
When as now the autumn tempest 

Raved and moaned in earth and sky. 



42 Traveller and Deserted House. 

Witchery of maiden beauty 

Here once wove its subtle spell, 
Drew enamoured youths unto me, 

As the twilight round me fell. 
'Neath the summer moon how often 

Whispered youths and maidens here, 
As the gold of sunset faded 

And the eve-star sparkled clear ! 

Here, too, death the threshold darkened, 

Hushed me to a silence drear, 
Made to hearts bereaved' and broken 

Earth a wilderness appear. 
But the cruel laceration 

Time by slow degrees healed o'er, 
Sanctified the loved and lost ones 

To the mourners evermore. 

Traveller. 

Why thus voiceless and deserted, 

As the seasons glide away, 
Leave thy sons their natal mansion 

To the tooth of slow decay ? 

Old House. 

Long as breathed my whilom dwellers 
To the manor born I drew, 

Like a star them annual hither 
Youth and childhood to renew. 

They are gone, and me their children, 
Housed in fairer homes, disdain ; 



Traveller and Deserted House. 43 

Thus my empty chambers left are 

Open to the wind and rain, — 
Richer soils and softer climates 

Drew my tillers one by one — 
Thus the mullein and the thistle t 

All my precincts overrun. 

Traveller. 

By the great lakes and the prairies 

And Pacific's thunderous tide, 
Old House on New England's uplands, 

Are thy dwellers scattered wide. 
Younger states of ampler compass 

Them as founders, leaders own, 
Fresh New Englands multiplying 

In each latitude and zone. 

In these eastern homes deserted, 

Europe's outcasts dull may creep ; 
Or as now the night and tempest 

Their loud carnival may keep ; 
Still her sacred soil remaineth 

Freedom hallowed evermore, 
Whatsoever creed or language 

Migrates to New England's shore. 

Still her Champion Gray * his vigil 
O'er her fields and cities keeps, 



* See in Hawthorne's "Twice-Told Tales" the story of 
the Gray Champion. 



44 Cathedrals. 

And in hours of war and peril 
To the front of battle leaps ; 

Leads her sons to certain triumph, 
As he led their sires of old 

When before his shadowy menace 
Back the cowed invaders rolled. 



CATHEDRALS. 

SHELLS of a dwindling faith, they stand, 
Slow-mouldering, o'er many a land. 
The ritualist would fain restore 
These holies of the days of yore ; 
Their Gothic arches fondly prop ; 
Their slow dilapidation stop. 
Gigantic symbols once they stood 
Of a long-current human mood. 
That mood is past, and reason now 
Forbids to grovel man's broad brow 
In blind and servile homage low. 
The lightning flash of modern thought 
The gods they shrined to grief has brought. 
They, mistlike, gradual fade away, 
Smit through and through by reason's ray. 
As ruin levelled long ago, 
Olympia's and Delphi's shrine, 
Which nobler genius did design, 
So Peter's dome at last will strow 
With splendors wrecked the earth below. 



The Dead Past. 45 



THE DEAD PAST. 

O PEDANT dull, who with thy bucket fain 
Wouldst living water from the dead past draw, 
The dead were wise for their own day ; in vain 
Of a new time you make their lore the law ; 
Art not alive thyself with soul to know 
And more of truth than men had long ago ? 
Not with the eyes wherewith dead nations saw 
The world look thou, but thine own vision use ; 
Nature herself forevermore renews, 
And comelier generations brings to light ; 
With swift despatch her crude assays from sight 
Hiding, wholly intent upon the breathing Now ; 
Not stumbling with reverted glance move thou, 
But forward, kindling at the Future's glow. 



THE TASK OF CIVILIZATION. 

O CIVILIZATION, what is now thy task ? 
E'en this, to re-create the multitude, 
From animalism low to lift the throng 
Of men up to the lofty human plane, 
Whereon the sense of beauty, justice, truth, 
Beholds in prospect fair the ideal world 
And weans from brutish instincts of the flesh. 



4.6 The Task of Civilization. 

Thus lifted to its glorious birthright high 

The mob shall cast its grimy slough away, 

The low-browed countenance shall flash with 

gleams 
Of rational consciousness, and bestial appetite 
And base desire be tamed. The Demagogue 
No more shall with his sophistries mislead 
The vulgar mind, the Plutocrat no more 
Pervert to his enrichment, selfishness, 
The popular strength ; the Priest no longer fill 
His coffers with superstition's offerings 
For absolution and indulgences 
And passports to pretended bliss. O Day 
Of liberation of the multitude 
From thraldom to the past, arise and shine 
O'er all the sorrow-stricken fields of earth, 
And be the herald of a just society, 
Wherein man shall not prey on man, but all 
Co-operate to noble, generous ends ! 
And lies the route to such millennial state 
Of general justice, plenty, happiness, 
Through Nihilistic hate and Dynamite 
And violent erasure of all the past ? 
No : by degrees and through the gradual lapse 
Of meliorating years shall justice come, 
And on this earth at length be realized 
The bright Atlantis of the sage's dreams, 
The City of God, whereof Augustine wrote. 



The Dead Bard. 47 

THE DEAD BARD* 

JUNE 12, 1878. 

T^HE New World's minstrel, hoary-bearded, old, 
A At length unto the burden of his years 
Succumbs, and lies majestic, seerlike, cold, 
Joining the bards of other days, his peers. 
No more the footsteps of the throng untold, 
Beating the city's ways like rain, he hears ; 
Though still 't is in its wonted current rolled 
There, where he sleeps, past his insentient ears. — 
He sang the Rivulet that down its glen 
Still bickering runs ; the Prairie pastures vast 
And shy stream gliding far from haunts of men ; 
The Hymn of Death and the remorseless Past, 
And Waterfowl that towards its distant fen, 
Lone flying through the sunset, 'scaped his ken ; 
The Hunter dreaming on the mountain's brow ; 
The solemn, sylvan past, in accents grand, — 
All these he sang ; and Liberty in guise 
Of beauteous matron, young, with flashing eyes 
Confronting Tyranny and vanished Youth, 
Which waits us where immortal morn prevails ; 
And, stronger from defeat, Eternal Truth, 
Before whom stricken Error dying quails. 

* William Culleri Bryant. 



48 /;/ Mcmoriam. 

* 

IN MEMORIAM. 

(emerson.) 

JV A AY, pensive o'er her minstrel dead, 
* * * Unsheathes not yet her wonted bloom, 
But sadly droops with wreathless head 
Above his freshly mounded tomb. 

Zephyr nor south wind breathes as yet, 
But March-like gusts rave here and there. 

Grieved Nature voices her regret 
In troubled earth and sea and air. 

For who in this new world like him 
The mighty mother's moods has sung ? 

Mountain and shore and forest dim 
Found in his mystic verse a tongue. 

Therefore, her lost interpreter 

Mute Nature mourns with rainy skies, 

While fitfully the wild winds stir 
The air to elegiac sighs. 

Pan on the lonely mountains tunes 

His reeds to grief ; and by the lonely shore, 

In twilight of its foliage, croons 
A dirge the pine tree evermore. 



In Memoriam. 49 

The blue bird from the palmy isles 
He loved to greet flies songless back ; 

And raucous geese, in wedge-like files, 
Wing silently their skyey track. 

At length, drying her tears, sweet May 

Will blossom into leafy June ; 
The south wind make the meadows gay, 

And wild bees hum a breezy tune ; 

The frogs in twilight marshes sing 

With bibulous notes their old refrain ; 

The swallow glance on glittering wing, 
And light and bloom glad earth again. 

But, ah ! to Nature's round once more 
Of sights and sounds he sung so well, 

What potence is there can restore 

Her bard, what death-reversing spell ? 

To winding Concord's pleasant vale 
Through all the countless future years, 

Hadjis devout will never fail, 

Though naught above his grave appears 

But flowery sward and simple stone, 

Such as a sage's rest beseem, 
Asleep amid the pine woods lone, 

Beneath whose boughs he loved to dream. 

There still the Evening Star will shine 
With beams as bright as lured his youth 



50 TJwrcaii. 

The city's tumult to resign 

For high and holy quest of truth. 

Onward his Indian stream will run 

Through pensive plain and meadow green, 

But not in all the years will one 
Like him upon its marge be seen. 

Beside him brother Druids lie, 

His comrades ere repose they found : 

'T is well that 'neath familiar sky 
All slumber in familiar ground. 



THOREAU. 

DY the quiet river lay his bones, 

**-* Where forever the low tones 

Of reed and wave 

Can murmur near his grave. 

These were the sounds he loved in life, 

And not the din and strife 

Of market-place and street. 

The leafy solitude 

Of silent wood 

Was dear unto his feet. 

The language of the birds he knew, 

And every plant that grew ; 

The lonely pond, the crystal mere 

With pines environed, far from human tread, 



TJiorcau. 5 1 

Where dives the loon with nought to fear, 

And, Nile-like, by some hidden fountain fed — 

On these he loved to float 

His drifting boat 

Between two heavens suspended 

In azure splendid. 

Poised below, 

Where his idle pinnace swung, 

The mute fishes hung, 

Or darted to and fro, 

Seeming to the eye 

Dwellers of an inverted sky. 

The world out of doors 

Was his home, 

His roof the skyey dome, 

The fallen leaves the carpets of his floors. 

In the pine tree's shade, 

Far from tower and town, 

His sylvan lodge he made 

Beneath the forest's shadow brown. 

There from his leafy cloister damp 

Twinkled at midnight his lonely lamp, 

While the frog piped from the neighboring swamp ; 

Amid the sylvan silence round, 

Lulled by the soothing sound 

Of the pine, would he muse and dream 

In statue-like abstraction and repose, 

From summer-dawn till the day's close. 



52 Thorcau. 

He was a Quietist of the woods 

And green New England solitudes, 

And in his eye 

Burned the red light of many a sunset sky. 

Each stilly Sabbath morn, 

Over the tremulous tree-tops borne 

From all the horizon round, 

A subdued, clangorous sound, 

A far-off music sweet 

Into his lone retreat 

The village bells would send, 

Unto his solitude a charm to lend. 

In spring-time, on their way 

To Baffin's Bay, 

And the Arctic shore 

Of Labrador, 

Many a caravan 

Of geese, ceasing the misty air to fan, 

In his lakelet would alight 

On weary wings, against to-morrow's flight. 

The wood-bird pecked beside his door, 

And the squirrel underneath his floor 

Chattered fearless. All night in fitful downpour 

From the relenting sky 

Would he hear the May rain prophesy 

Of bursting buds and flowers, 

And greenest June's delicious hours. 

Close to Nature's breast 

He lived. The mighty Mother him caressed 

As her darling son, 



TJiorcau. 53 

Whose life with hers was still in unison ; 
Her deepest pulses throbbing clear 
Unto his lonely ear. 

No untamed thing in Nature's fold, 
That burrows in the mould, 
Or creeps, or swims, or flies, 
Shunning human sight, 
Could elude his piercing eyes 
From the trout's haunt, dim and shy, 
To the sea-fowl's airiest flight, 
Over the city steeple's dizziest vane 
Specking the dim inane. 

But Nature's worshipper has passed 

From the river, mead, and waste, 

Into the spiritual clime 

That knows not space and time ; 

The eternal Cosmos, where 

Change and generation are unknown, 

And want and care, 

And grief and moan. 

But still the woods and quiet stream 

On which he loved to dream 

Will whisper of their Druid flown, 

Their lost companion, 

Whose skilful ear 

Aright their oracles could hear, 

So that the oak and pine 

Could sing and murmur in his line 



54 The Star of the Lion. 

Truths more high 

Than those erst borne on old Dodona's leafy sigh. 

Let the Concord murmur near 

Unto his mouldering ear, 

Or by Walden's diamond deep 

Perchance he would more softly sleep, 

Lulled by the trees he loved and knew, 

His grave-sods steeped with twilight's dew. 

There let him sleep within the eye 

Of his loved mount, Wachusett, blue : 

The sunset's citadel, 

Rising with airy swell 

On the threshold of the west, 

As though beyond — not far away — 

Some occidental land of rest, 

Or gleaming island of the blest, 

In sweet seclusion lay. 



THE STAR OF THE LION. 

THE stars of twilight, one by one, 
* Come out above the sunken sun, 
At first with faint and timid beams 
Amid the daylight's fading gleams. 
Anon, as sunset's splendors die, 
Distinct they lure the pensive eye, 
And gem the dusking western sky. 



The Star of the Lion. 55 

With face turned sunward, body spread 
O'er half the azure fields o'erhead, 
The constellated Lion grim 
See couchant in those star-depths dim. 
And, lo ! his chiefest orb to-night, 
Basilikos,* flames clear and bright. 

Mark well that lamp of summer even, — 

Star more renowned illumes not heaven. 

In history's primeval days, 

Ere David, Job, or Homer sung, 

Ere Rome 'mid woods of Latium sprung, 

It drew the Babylonian's gaze 

For signs of fate when scanning space. 

Chaldsean sages watched the glow 

Of Regulus thus long ago ; 

Thus far, 'mid mists of backward time, 

Observed it from their towers sublime. 

'T was Regulus, the kingly star 

Which ruled Chaldsea's calendar, 

And Greek Hipparchos taught aright 

The movement of the hosts of night. 

Here, through our New World's twilight gray, 

It beams with undiminished ray, 

On us as brightly shining down 

As on Assyrian monarch's crown. 



* The principal star in the constellation of the Lion was 
called Basilikos, or the Little King, by the Greek astrono- 
mers. It is known to modern astronomers as Regulus, which 
is a Latin word of the same significance. The Arabs, too, 
called it the Royal Star. 



56 Somiet. 

And when our lips have long been dumb, 

And a far future shall have come, 

And dull oblivion made its prey 

The fames and grandeurs of to-day, 

And all now breathing melted be 

In bosom of eternity, 

The Lion's regal star will shed 

Its radiance still through evening's red, 

And still shine on with changeless ray 

O'er earth's mutations and decay, 

And bring as now to sleepless eyes 

The peace of its far tranquil skies. 



SONNET. 



THE devotees of thought are lonely men, 
* Unheeded by the world they dwell apart ; 
Unnoticed in the great Batavian mart 

Descartes abode as in some mountain glen. 

When respite from his quest of Truth he sought 
He roamed the busy streets with curious eyes, 
Snuffing the scent of Orient merchandise 

And spicy drugs from Indian islands brought. 

And Gibbon sat in studious solitude, 

Sinking bright shafts into the foretime's gloom, 
While within earshot of his silent room 

Bickered the chariot wheels of Fashion's brood. 
Immortal air their inner lives respired, 
In tranquil breathings from the world retired. 



To Benedict Spinoza. 57 



TO BENEDICT SPINOZA. 

(~\ PURE as Christ, as deeply souled ! 
^-^ Whose life, an alder-shaded stream, 

Hid from the broad day's garish beam, 
In hush of thought unmurmuring rolled : 

Thou outcast of an outcast race ! 
From loyalty to truth no lure 
Thy step could turn, — its path obscure 

Content with even tread to pace. 

With surer foot who could have scaled 

The vulgar heights ? Conformist — thee 
With loud acclaim and jubilee 

Rabbles and rabbins would have hailed ! 

With tardy recognition now 

Memorial honors thee await — 

There, where on earth thine humble fate 

Thou didst accept with placid brow. 



58 Kant. 



KANT. 



"CAR up in granite altitudes cloud-hung 

* Of mountain loneliness, the source we spy 

Of continent-furrowing rivers grand, whereby 

Earth's chiefest capitals have proudly sprung. 

'T is from some murmurous cavern near the sky 

The lowland champaign draws fertility : 

So to thy lofty brain, O thinker high ! 

The thousand rills of thought, ideal streams, 

Which to the common level of thy race 

Bring rich alluvium of truth, we trace. 

You found within, where sovereign Reason beams, 

The primal, universal verities 

Unmixed with sensual alloy. Your eyes 

Were purged by a most spiritual euphrasy. 



HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS. 

/^~YER paradisal prairies, lakes, and streams, 
^-^ Through woods, which wintry winds are 

never scourging, 
Lo, the poor Indian, so he fondly dreams, 
Beyond the grave a shadowy chase is urging. 

Visions of happy hunting-grounds have been 

The solace of the ages hitherto — 
Of yore, westward for his immortal scene 

Of bliss the Grecian hero's spirit flew, 



Happy Hunting-Grounds. 59 

Beyond the pillars of Alcmena's son/' 
Far o'er the outer ocean, where the day, 

When his precipitous course, at length, was done, 
The Happy Isles suffused with level ray. 

There blew the west wind, with eternal breath. 

That never swelled to storm or wintry gale ; 
There dwelt the heroic few, who knew not death, 

In summer meads, where fell not rain nor hail. 

A city of God, with golden portals bright, 

Next gladdened long the raptured eye of faith ; 

Like clouds aglow in sunset's gorgeous light, 

Upreared its walls, the glorious heavenly wraith. 

Then through the new world's odorous forest 
gloom, 
Long knightly seekers roamed of Eldorado, 
Till, worn with baffled quest, a lonely doom 

O'ertook them in the wildwood's boundless 
shadow. 

Perchance their dying ears the murmurs heard 
Of fount of youth, beside them softly flowing ; 

Perchance their filming eyes the illusion stirred 
Of gilded turrets, through the dim boughs glowing. 

In mystic solitudes of sunset sea 

No voyager strains for happy isles his vision — 
Through justice, knowledge, common earth may be 

At length transformed into a field Elysian. 



Hercules, or Herakles. 



6o Holy Land. 



HOLY LAND. 

A \1 HERE is the Holy Land ? Not where 

" " The wrecks of vanished priesthoods lie, 
Fallen fanes beneath the lonely sky, 
Round which of old the battle cry 
Of warring zealots rent the air : 
The Santa Terra is not there. 

It rears aloft no haughty dome, 
Of God the so-called special home, 
Beneath which low-browed peasants kneel 
And voices of castrati peal. 
'T is where the light of knowledge comes 
E'en to the lowliest, humblest homes ; 
'T is where the people own the soil, 
The acreage on which they toil, 
Gathering beneath their granges' eaves 
The annual harvest's golden sheaves, 
Untithed by haughty priest or lord, — 
For freemen's use, enrichment stored. 

It is no stricken waste of sand, 

Of crumbling rocks and outworn earth, 

Where wild enthusiasts had birth : 

Such natals once made Holy Land. 

Now, where truth's light and reason's ray 

Shed cloudless intellectual day, 

Where knowledge with anointment grand 

Makes all men kings, — there 's Holy Land. 



The Poet's Land. 61 



THE POET'S LAND. 

Zu dem Dichterlande. — Schiller. 

'"THERE clustered in immortal groups are seen 
* The sacred singers of each age and clime 
With temples laurelled with perennial green, 
The meed of nations for their lays sublime. 
And all are brothers, whatsoe'er the tongue 
Each may to poesy etern have wrought, — 
Whether their lyres in far-off foretimes rung 
Or voiced of eras just elapsed the thought. 

From sightless Homer e'en to Shelley, all 
The impulse of a chainless spirit own, 
Save here and there some sensuous, recreant thrall 
Of low desire, who hymned a despot's throne. 
Though sang he 'neath Olympian heaven low 
In years which yield not an historic ray, 
The blind old Scian minstrel yet could know 
That slavery taketh half man's worth away. 



SONNET. 



OHUTS out the depths of cosmic space the day, 
^ Our puny earth to prominence restoring. 
Refreshed and reassured by morning's ray 
Through wonted channels life again is roaring. 



62 Land, Light, Water, Air. 

No wonder men the sun were once adoring : 
In his glad light, we somewhat seem again. 
Cities and hamlets largely loom once more, 
The air throbs with their turmoil and uproar, 
From morn till evening human interests reign. 
Earth into shadow then again retires, 
Abashed and hushed beneath the starry fires, 
Cyclads of limitless space. The Milky Way 
In mystic stillness gleams o'erhead, where, blent, 
The beams of myriad suns kindle the firmament. 



LAND, LIGHT, WATER, AIR. 

T^HUS far Natura Rerum has been foiled, 
* And made a partial foster-mother hard. 
Whereas for all was meant her kind regard, 
The few have won it, while the many toiled, 
And on an acreage they owned not moiled. 
Light, water, air, could not be fenced, but vain 
Are these to him who footing cannot gain 
Upon the bosom of his mother earth, 
Whither at last all go, whence all have birth. 
To be a man is a distinction high, 
A title to the soil as well as air. 
'T will be for Reason, Science, to take care 
This title is made good, that usury 
And fraud and force no longer breed despair. 



Truth. 6$ 



TRUTH. 



COYLY, with gradual apocalypse, 
Truth for the Multitude her veil withdraws, 
Dispelling Superstition's dire eclipse 

And spectral gloom slowly, with many a pause 
While she unmuffles. Well the goddess knows 

Her full effulgence would their vision daze, 
Purblind and used to Error's darkness gross, 

Or mythic Fancy's glimmering, twilight rays. 
But unto spirits elect in every time 

Has she her sun-bright form and features shown 
Without disguise, as rapt in thought sublime 

In cloistered silence sat they musing, lone. 
With sudden step then on them would she steal, 
Full-orbed her countenance august reveal. 



W 



THIS WORLD. 

E hope, aspire, and dream, but only know 
The current life we now are living here, 
So sweet to most they ask no higher sphere. 
Art, science, freedom, peace, can make to glow, 
Like fabled heaven, this world, which long ago 
Was deemed a place of harsh probation drear 
Only a vestibule where, pale with fear, 
Men should salvation seek by penance grim. 
Foully this glorious world the saints belied : 



64 Nature. 

'T is one of the innumerous orbs that swim 
Through cosmic space on gravitation's tide ; 

With beauty as a garment clothed, it spins 
About the sun, buoyant, in orbit wide, 

Nor rays one beam the less because of human sins. 



NATURE. 



C ACH fleeting generation formulates 

*— ' A theory of me, then goes its way ; 

But I, the mute and always-living, stay. 

The strong, bright present tense me ever dates, 

While hampers man to-morrow, yesterday, 

Cheated by hope and memory's idle play. 

The god-creators he erst throned o'er me 

A wider vision has dispelled, as dreams ; 

A watch-like mechanism no more he deems 

The living All, a mere contrivance wrought 

By puny cosmoplast once on a time 

To be to ignominious ruin brought. 

At last his soul invades the truth sublime 

Of an eternal Now, a dateless might, 

A surge ineffable of life and light. 



THE EQUINOX. 

THE sorrow of the Autumn rain is here, 
*■ But Summer's foliaceous locks hang high, — 
Not soiled gold yet in woodpaths lone they lie, 
Though 'mong them many a leaf is stricken sere. 



The Human Countenance, 65 

An Indian swarthiness bronzes the year, 
Such as the ancient sylvan continent wore 
Far back in immemorial days of yore, 
Making the savage past to reappear 
Forever in our New-World bounds, as oft 
As Autumn comes with rustling Indian ear, 
And breezes from the southwest breathing soft, 
And blue-skied noons, ethereal, sunny, bland, 
And eves, apocalyptic visions grand, 
With mystic sunset gleams of woods and waters 
clear. 



THE HUMAN COUNTENANCE. 

(WILKINSON VERSIFIED.) 

'""FHE human face is wardrobe of the soul, 
* Its scenic boudoir, robing-room most fair, 
Affording dresses, liveries manifold, 

Costumes of every dye and cut are there. 
It is the loom, wherein the inner man 

Can instant weave the garment of his mood ; 
Where all the hopes, desires, and passions can 

Wear uniforms with fitting hues imbued : 
Our Seven Ages there their liveries find, 

From nursery cradle ranging to the bier, — 
Youth's roseate, downy bloom of joy combined 

With sunny dimples, sparkling glances clear ; 
Furrow and line for many-thoughted age ; 

Carnation for the bridal morning sweet ; 
5 



66 The Past. 

Love's heavenly blush ; the blackening hue of rage, 

And green of jealousy, — all there you meet ; 
Hate's wicked white ; despair's own death-like 
gray; 

There takes hypocrisy all robes and dyes, 
Plundering the rest by turns of their array, 

Wherein to hoodwink surface-cheated eyes ; 
Sorrow and penitence have sackcloth there ; 

And Genius in high, rapturous mood divine, 
Self-luminous the halo bright doth wear, 

Which wont of old round gods and saints to 
shine. 



THE PAST. 

'"PHERE it lies in shadow, — the outworn Past : 
* No more it sways the Present from the urns 
And charnels of its historied dead, no more 
Repeat its creeds and consecrated myths 
The generations of to-day with servile, 
Parrot-like, unquestioning iteration. 
Men's ancestors, forefathers, are no more 
As household deities adored ; no more 
Their customs, usages, are sacrosanct. 
The hearthfire's gods, Penates, Lares, are 
At length dethroned. Reason is paramount. 

To sunlike beams and breezes fresh of Truth 
Men's minds, like vernal lawns, lie open wide. 



The Past. 6y 

The foul breath of the Past no more will breathe 
The generations of to-day. Each age will soon 
Construct its own environment, its shrines, 
Abodes to suit its current mood, refusing 
To be housed in structures long ago upreared, 
Unventilated, dark with stains of blood. 
The palaces of kings, the monstrous shrines 
Of hierarchies old, which Europe's soil 
Incumber, will ere long in ruinous heaps 
Be strown, because they symbolize the Past, 
Its tyrannies and superstitions foul. 

Happy art thou, America, because 

Thine unpolluted acreage, where bloom 

The virgin blossoms of the wilderness, 

The sealike prairies' golden flowerage, 

Ne'er groaned beneath the architecture huge 

Of priests and kings, upreared with tears and sighs 

By drudges guerdonless, that loathed their toil. 

The forms putrescent of the dead will soon 

To earth and air by purifying flames 

Be given, no longer life empoisoning 

With fetid exhalations of decay. 

Thus in the living Now will life be lived, 

With Reason like the Morning Star aloft, 

The torch to more and more enlightenment, 

To final justice, that shall lift from slough 

Of want and woe all wearing human shape. 






68 Truth. 



TRUTH. 

^V TRUTH, a form of virgin loveliness 
^"-^ Fitly might thee incarnate, even such 
As old Athenai's Maid of Wisdom wore. 

Her eyes of deep celestial blue might well 
Be thine, but not her Gorgon shield and helm. 
The panoply thou wear'st is light alone, 
Wherewith thou deal'st immedicable wounds, 
Through Error's buckler driving shaft on shaft, — 
Ethereal archery no mail can fend. 

Like dawn thou com'st dispersing gloom ; 
About thy radiant feet, the harbingers 
Of day, cower gods and demons old, the brood 
Of night shrinking in terror from thy face, 
By conflict flushed to loveliness austere. 

They veiled and templed thee of yore, but thou 

The function, name, of deity dost shun, 

Deaf unto selfish prayer and bended knee. 

Thy priesthood are the sons of knowledge, light, 

Who ever served thee 'neath the blue of heaven, 

Leaving to Sacerdocies dark altars 

And frankincense and prayers and gilded shrines. 

Eternal Verity, thee reason knew 

In its ideal realm ; thee knew and loved, 



Truth. 69 

And made thee linger in seclusion long, 
Not hastening thy descent where passion raved, 
And force barbaric swayed the tribes of men, 
With superstition for its dark ally. 

At length with joy thine Avatar we see ; 
The few alone no longer thee behold 
In bright, ideal elevation throned, 
Beyond the ken of the low-thoughted throng. 
Thy shining sandals flash along the ways 
Of common life in field and market-place. 

Thou draw'st the servile multitude away 
From mouldering shrines, worm-eaten symbols old, 
And slavish attitudes of adoration, 
To gaze erect with lifted front upon 
Thy charms, that win with purest loveliness 
Of roseate cheek and azure eye and brow serene, 
Not crowned, but wreath'd with many an auburn 
tress. 

Beauty and Justice are thy sisters bright ; 
And Grace and Muse will.minister to thee 
With lither motions, sweeter melodies, 
Than fabling Error ever could command. 

Thou giv'st to sage and bard not petty span 

Of this small orb for inspiration, but 

Immeasurable space and time wherein 

Eternal might works ever without haste 

Or rest, hanging with worlds like wreaths of flowers 



jo The Szvan and the Eagle. 

Unnumbered firmaments, whereof Urania, 

The mythic, olden queen of astral lore, 

In her most rapt and loftiest mood ne'er dreamed. 

Long-time illusions reign by thy sufferance. 
At last thou turn'st a bright iconoclast, 
Rousing the mind from torpor and content, 
To put away its crumbling idols foul. 
Then springs enraged Reaction to the rescue, 
Taunting thee with vile epithets, till thine eye 
Emits a flash that slays without a wound, 
Shrivelling thy haughty foe to nothingness. 



THE SWAN AND THE EAGLE. 

[Translated from the German.] 

The Swan. 

MY days serenely on the waters glide, 
Which lave in ripples light my plumy breast 
While imaged in the scarcely ruffled tide, 
As in a glass, I see myself expressed. 

The Eagle. 

The lightning-splintered crag is my sojourn — 
Abroad upon the tempest's breath I fly, 

And where the fires of battle fiercely burn 
With pinion bold I wing the murky sky. 



The Swan and the Eagle. 



The Swan. 

Me with delight the azure heavens fill, 

While flowers with sweet breath draw me to the 
shore, 

Their balm inhaling float I poised and still 
Upon the stream with sunset purpled o'er. 

The Eagle. 

When from their roots the forests gnarled are rent, 
And wild tornadoes, crashing, tear a path ; 

When from the rifted clouds red bolts are sent, 
I jubilant dare the elements' fierce wrath. 

The Swan. 

At bright Apollo's invitation sweet 

In waves of harmony I float and swim, 

Or with furled pinion listen at his feet, 

While charms his lyre the shades of Tempe dim. 

The Eagle. 

My perch, the throne itself of Jove, I make ; 

His bolts I with my talons clutch and bring ; 
And when my filming eyes their slumber take, 

I veil his sceptre with my flagging wing. 

The Swan. 

The stars and blue vault imaged far below, 

In hours of musing often I survey, 
And feel a longing in my bosom glow, 

Which calls me to my Fatherland away. 



j 2 Fauns. 

The Eagle. 

With glance undazzled on the noontide sun, 
E'en from my infant years I dared to gaze ; 

High o'er the dust of earth, its vapors dun, 
I soar allied to the celestial race 

The Swan. 

Calmly to death I unreluctant bow, 

And when the hour arrives, which sets me free, 
A dirge-note then I warble wild and low 

So that my latest breath is melody. 

The Eagle. 

Chainless and free my spirit darts away 

Leaving behind, below, the extinguished pyre 

It swiftly mounts, till in eternal day, 
It finds of its lost youth again the fire. 



FAUNS. 



V^ES, man was wild in some gone time, 
* Far back in Nature's savage prime. 
And, cave-roofed, pricked a furry ear 
At sound of foe or peril near ; 
And still the spell of lonely wood 
Wakens the Faun or Satyr rude 
In the sophisticated breast, 
Which Civilization has opprest 



Morning. 73 

With weary weight of fopperies vain, — 
Who would not be a Faun again, 
Heedless of wind, and dew, and rain, 
A citizen of out-of-doors, 
Bivouacking on the forest floors, 
Knowing the speech of birds and leaves, 
With moon for lamp and boughs for eaves, 
A tenant of the open air, 
Not yet arrived at thought and care, 
Dappled with shade of wildvvood trees, 
Footing it in the sylvan breeze 
With beauteous maiden, fountain-born, 
Or, Dryad, ruddy as the morn ? 



MORNING. 

WICISSITUDE -is sweet, 

From gloom to glistening dew, 
From dark collapse of life, 
A waff whirled here and there 
In vortices of dream, 
The mind with joy resumes 
Over its moods control 

Of its ideal realm, the sceptre and the crown, 
In darkness laid aside. 
Meantime the sun and dew 
Bring joy and hope and strength, 
To tread with quickened step 
The trite routine of life. 



74 An American ValJiallc 



AN AMERICAN VALHALLA. 

A FRAGMENT. 

THE great republic's hero-hall should stand 
* Upon some ridge, where sunrise, sunset 
burning, 
Would daily with transfiguration grand 
Its marbles, bronzes into gold be turning. 

Thither, by gradual steps ascending slow, 
Pilgrims should reach a mighty pillared fane, 

O'erbrowing haughtily the earth below, 
Far-seen of all the dwellers in the plain. 

So stood the Panionium of old, 

High-gleaming in the clear, Ionian weather, 
While at its base ^Egean surges rolled, 

As men of isle and mainland met together 

Who in our Valhall pedestalled should be 

For continental homage evermore ? 
Leif, Thorfinn, Thorvald, rovers of the sea, 

Who first cast anchor off the new world's shore. 

There, too, should stand the Genoese in stone, 
With visioned eye westward intently peering, 

As on his deck, when star of evening shone, 

He oft-times stood, the strand of sunset nearing. 



An American Valhalla. 75 

The Pater Patriae, on war-horse proud, 

A shape of bronze, should sit colossal-moulded, 

Scanning the landscape, as, without a cloud, 
It lies anear, afar, map-like unfolded. 

Commemorated there in stone should be 
The lone enthusiast whose ear with wonder 

First heard amid the wildwood's greenery 
Niagara's diapason grand of thunder. 

There Boone, undaunted hunter, pioneer, 

Who loved with passion deep the foliaged wild, 

Should on a fallen trunk, with just-slain deer, 
Be carved — by civilization undented. 

Next him should sculptured stand the hero who 
First traced the mighty stream adown to ocean — 

Father of waters, now that rolleth through 
A valley-empire's picturesque commotion. 

The roamers of magnolian forests dim 

Should there be grouped, seekers of Eldorado, 

Who, waging with wild nature conflict grim, 

At length succumbed beneath the forest's 
shadow. 

There should be seen a Clinton's stately brow, 
Who western inland's isolation ended, 

And Erie's fresh wave, floating many a prow, 
With brine of ocean by his strong will blended. 



76 Carlyle Versified. 

But Indian myths and dreamy legends rare 
Should to the actual charm of fancy lend, 

And thus the Kaatskill's sleeper would be there- 
Fable with history's lineaments to blend. 



BURNS. 

(carlyle versified.) 

\\ 7HILE Shakespeare, Milton, through the realm 
W f thought, 

Like mighty rivers roll forever more, 
Whilst pearls of beauty from their depths are 
brought, 

Admired from age to age, from shore to shore, 
This little valley-cloistered fount of song 

Up from the heart of nature gushing clear 
Will to its margin woo the pilgrim long, 

Soothing with wild, sweet cadences his ear, 

As shadowed by its pines he muses near. 



VICTORY. 

A T last upon the heights of victory flew 
**- His banner battle-torn ; 
On the scaled mountain tops his sandals grew 
Resplendent with the red of morn. 



A Priest of Nature. 77 

Hyperion-like he stood 

Emerged from steep ascent, where glued in blood 
His torn feet oft had clung, 
As up from crag to crag he sprung, 
Triumphant over pain and tears 
And struggle long of weary years. 
He stood and gazed o'er all the scene below, 
Far-stretching, solemn, radiant with auroral glow, 
While upward swelling Memnon music thrilled his 
ears. 



A PRIEST OF NATURE. 

X_J E was a priest of Nature, Brahmin mild 
1 *• 'Mid spicy groves, 'neath skies benignant 
dwelling ; 
nystic meaning, pleasure undented 
or him from Night and Day were ever welling. 

The verdurous, foodful Earth with forests, streams, 
He loved, with flowery leas and skies eternal ; 

Her interplay of lunar, solar beams, 

And all her aspects nightly and diurnal. 

His spirit revelled in her thousand charms, 

Her mountains' grandeur and her valleys' quiet ; 

Her scents breeze-blown could medicine his harms, 
Her hues and odors were his fancy's diet. 



yS The Poet of Old. 



THE POET OF OLD. 

/^\NCE the poet wandered, 
^-^ With his lyre in hand, 
Wandered, singing, harping, 
On from land to land. 

Like a bird he hovered, 
And, where'er he came, 

Kindled he each bosom 
With his song to flame ; 

Careless of the morrow 
Journeyed he along ; 

Opened every portal 
To the sound of song ; 

Sua sponte heart's-ease 
In his bosom grew — 

Happiness as birthright 
Like the gods he knew ; 

All life's haps and changes 
On his chords he rung ; 

Every thought, emotion, 
In him found a tongue ; 

Voiced he for the lover 
Passion of his breast — 



The Poet of Old. 79 

Feigned he death to lighten 
Islands of the Blest ; 

Up in ether throned he 

Gods the world to sway — 
Gods to bend and -listen 

While their votaries pray. 

Soul and sense enchanted, 

Drank his accents in ; 
E'en to marble bosoms 

He his way could win. 

From her casement Beauty 

Leaned his song to hear ; 
E'en the haughty conqueror 

Bent a willing ear ; 

For without the poet 

And his epic lay 
Passed his vast existence, 

Whirlwind-like, away — 

Trace nor vestige leaving, 

Where his legions trod, 
Which the year effaced not 

From the vernal sod. 

Thus the poet wandered 

In a nobler time, 
Wandered, singing, harping, 

Free of every clime. 



8o The Marvel of Life. 



THE MARVEL OF LIFE. 



DROTHER, who deem'st thy life but common- 

*-* place, 

An iteration dull of days on days, 

Uplift for once thine earthward bending gaze. 

Behold the eternal Deep above thee gleaming 

With Night's sidereal fires all silent-beaming ; 

Orion, Pleiades in revolution grand, 

Hurled forth from God's own hand. 



ii. 

See wonderfullest Earth around, below, 

Where Winter's storms and Summer's spice-airs 

blow. 
Behold, thou standest in the lapse sublime 
Of limitless, eternal Time, 
In endless vista evermore 
Behind thee stretching, and before. 



in. 

Encircles thee on every side 
Of Force, the never-resting tide 
Mysterious, thousand-fold, 



The Marvel of Life. 8 1 

Upon whose shoreless current rolled 

Thyself, thine earth like bubbles seem, 

The rushing foam-flakes of a swollen stream. 



IV. 



Up from its depths like night-mists from a river 

Arising, vanishing forever 

In endless interplay of life and death 

A many-hued, phantasmagorial show, 

Where generations come and go, 

Some just inhaling, some surrendering vital breath 

Forever fluctuates Being's restless dream, 

Whose fleeting shadows we substantial deem. 



v. 



In Time's wild-roaring loom 
Fly to and fro the shuttles swift of doom 
Weaving the mystic web of human life — 
Texture of dark and bright, of joy and strife. 
Rustles the woof, as if in storm-wind dread, 
All spirit-wove, one many-glancing thread. 



VI. 



With many a sylvan century noar 
The oak-tree falls with far-heard roar. 
Meantime another oak has sprung 
Airward from bursting acorn young. 



82 The Marvel of L ife. 

VII. 

Arriving hither from the dread Unknown 
New men to virile stature quick have grown, 
To strength of sinew, passionate fire, 
While other men o'erweighed with years expire, 
Sink motionless to ashes cold, 
Waving thee mute farewells — no more 
Thine eyes their long familiar forms behold, 
In vain to find them parting-spot explore. 

VIII. 

Across life's stage the generations pour, 

Stormful with torrent-like uproar ; 

Forever swallowed is the eager press 

In silence and forgetfulness, 

But still uprising in the rear 

Fresh generations evermore appear 

Buoyant and strong with youthful breath 

The foremost crowding o'er the verge of death. 



IX. 



And thou, O Brother, o'er the gulf of doom 
Hangest — like dewdrop morning's rays illume — 
Hangest but with an evanescent gleam, 
Soon to be quenched in dull oblivion's stream. 



halyard' s Soliloquy. 83 



LEDYARD'S SOLILOQUY. 

Even sober New England has romantic chapters in its 
authentic history and romantic historic characters. Among 
such, the celebrated traveller, John Ledyard, ranks foremost. 
Sparks has given us rather a tame biography of this daring, 
indefatigable adventurer, who was born in Groton, Ct., in 
1 75 1, and died in Cairo, Egypt, in 1788, when he was on the 
eve of setting off on a journey of exploration of the Dark 
Continent. Ledyard and Mungo Park were forerunners of 
Stanley. Ledyard accompanied Captain Cook on his last 
voyage of circumnavigation, and was a favorite with the great 
explorer. In his youth Ledyard was a student at Dartmouth 
College, then just established as an Indian school in the wil- 
derness. Becoming tired of his student life, he voyaged in a 
dugout from Hanover to Hartford, a distance of 140 miles 
down the Connecticut River. Sir Joseph Banks and Jefferson 
were both friends and helpers of Ledyard, whom they greatly 
admired. 

COR days I 've heard from out the misty sky 

The clamor of the geese, which to their homes 
In Arctic solitudes are speeding fast ; 
I hear the bluebird's warble, songster sweet. 
But yesterday he left the orange groves, 
And palms, and coral islands of the South, 
And winged with strong desire, hath hither flown, 
Where he was hatched and fledged — thus love of 

home 
Is strong in beast and bird, as 't is in man — 
Nay, stronger, for man is cosmopolite, 



84 Ledyard's Soliloquy. 

A citizen of every zone ; freedom 

Of all the climes his birthright is, because 

With sovereign reason he 's endowed, and thus 

To all environments can use himself. 

The stir of spring in earth and air, in brook 

And tree, and in the heart of man, awakes 

In me nomadic instincts, which were born 

With me, the longing irrepressible 

To roam, which burns within me night and day. 

Blue distances — the sight of azure mountains 

Far away with strong emotion my heart 

Make rise into my throat with sudden sense 

Of suffocation. What, though rolling stones 

Gather no moss, my first-felt instinct I 

Must follow, though it leads to hardship, want, 

Unnumbered perils, death ! — like Arab, Scyth, 

The wanderer's tent I make my habitation, 

And nowhere plant a fixed, abiding foot. 

Here floats my dugout ready southward me 

To bear adown this lovely, sylvan river, 

Whose fountain like the Nile's is hidden deep 

In woods primeval, ne'er by white man searched. 

Good Doctor Wheelock's infant college in 

This Indian wilderness but meagre kind 

Of learning yields, and book-lore is not that 

I seek or want. The earth's vast surface is 

The page my restless eyes would fain peruse 

By light of sun and star in every clime. 

A sedentary life I must not lead, 

But give my vigorous youth to exploration, — 

Here wild, unconscious Nature is supreme, 

And knows not rich variety of race. 



Ledyard 's Soliloquy. 85 

My purpose to fulfil I '11 cross the sea 

And join some circumnavigating Anson, 

Cook, sailing with whom Ulysses-like I 

Can an earth-wide wanderer be, — thus shall I 

Satiate my hunger, thirst for locomotion ; 

From North Star ranging to the Southern Cross. 

[Afloat on the Connecticut rivet .] 

No monk or hermit in the Thebaid 

Was lonelier than I have been all day 

Adown this freshet-swollen river drifting. 

Its banks are dark and sullen with the shade 

Of pines and hemlocks grim. The rain of May, 

From which I 'm roofed, falls fitfully. Sometimes 

A pouring deluge, then a mist of tears, 

As 't were — meantime the shad with silver scales 

Are plentiful, and with my scoop-net I 

Fare daintily. As for the vernal rain, 

Its drops innumerous a pleasant drum-beat 

Make upon my canvas awning overhead, 

That lulls me into sleep and strange, wild dreams ; 

Portents, perchance, of wild experiences 

Myself awaiting in the future near. 

The sparse, white settlers, who up hither slowly 

Migrate from Connecticut, as churlish, 

Ursine, bearish seem as bears themselves, that 

Show themselves at times on the river's marge, 

Meantime their churlish hospitalities 

I 'm not dependent on in my good boat, 

Which moored to river bank, bed-chamber is 

As quiet as e'en Somnus, god of sleep, 



86 Led yard's Soliloquy. 

Himself could ask, whereof I read in Ovid's verse, 

Which is my solace, as my dugout glides 

Adown the stream swiftly and silently. 

At twilight, when I 'm anchored off a meadow, 

The choral frogs me through the thickening dark 

Salute with querulous notes, announcing spring. 

With golden dandelions thick inlaid 

I, here and there, behold the treeless shore, 

Which earliest blossom on Novanglian sward 

Of all the flowers, which deck the wilderness. 

Of the Six Nations I my woodcraft learned, 

So that no stranger am I in the wild. 

The bark of forest trees me guidance yields, 

Not lost in mazes of the wilderness 

But steering straightly, confidently through, 

Such cunning in this sylvan hemisphere 

Which more abounds in trees than beasts or men, 

Is well enough, but in the other half 

Of earth, where all the human interest lies 

As yet, and where the storied soil has known 

The plough for years innumerable, 't will do 

Me little good — my navigation lone 

Of this unfamed, but lovely new-world river, 

Which celebration sweet in song deserves 

As much as vaunted Tiber, Thames, or Rhine, 

Is my first perilous adventure as 

A traveller, explorer, though no danger 

Yet me has confronted. As in a vision 

Thus far I've floated pleasantly along 

Day dreaming, reading my Ovid and New 

Testament, which my only volumes are. 



LcdyarcVs Soliloquy. 87 

Meantime my boat, as if a magic bark, 

No helmsman needs — Ah ! this is May, the month 

Of poets and of lovers fond. All day 

A silvery haze has veiled the vernal heaven, 

While softly has the south wind breathed o'er 

river, 
Meadow, forest, to verdure stirring earth. 
A purple pageant is the sunset's fire ; 
Such days are nuptials bright of earth and sky, 
Or in old mythic phrase of Jupiter 
And Terra, on whose breast he amorous falls 
In fertilizing showers and vernal beams. 

Last night my boat was moored beneath a knoll, 

On which a thick-leaved pine was musical. 

I sank to sleep, lulled by its murmurs wild. 

Methought I was begirt by turbaned men, 

Dusk faces, flashing eyes, which glared on me 

With deadly and fanatic hate — the hate 

Of fierce religious bigotry, which thirsts 

For blood of heresy, and gloateth o'er 

The blazing fagots unbelievers burning. 

Around me was a populous city vast ; 

A moving pageant 't was of horsemen, camels, 

Women veiled, and blacks of Sennaar, grim Turks, 

Muftis and dervishes, the motley throng 

Of Orient metropolis ; lithe shafts 

Of minarets the blue, blue ether pierced. 

Methought in mortal sickness that I lay, 

So that the cloud of death soon veiled my eyes, 

And hid from view the gorgeous, alien scene. 



88 Ledyard's Soliloquy. 

So vivid was the dream, it all my thoughts 

Has darkened. What fantastic tricks doth sleep, 

Which Ovid makes a potent deity, 

With us poor mortals in the night hours play, 

When passive are our intellects, as 't were, 

Wide open lying to incursions dark 

Of vagrant powers of air, which haunt the night. 

But, hark ! what shouts are these I hear from 

shore, 
Where see I people running to and fro 
And beckoning me ? The mystery- is solved, 
I hear a cataract's roar — now strong arms do 
Your office quick and cheat the rushing flood. 

\He rows vigorously and seizes a rope thrown to him, 
and is extricated with his boat.] 

Good friends, a thousand thanks for your kind aid, 
Without which I were now a lifeless corse, 
The sport of torrent maddened by its plunge 
Adown yon steep. 

I am alone again, 
Escaped from death, and glides my boat along 
As buoyantly as though naught had occurred. 
Henceforth I float, with open ears' alert, 
To catch the sound of roaring waterfalls 
And foaming shallows, where my dugout strong 
Might be impaled on slippery, pointed rocks, 
And T be whirled a waif forlorn crushed dead. 



To Humboldt. 89 



TO HUMBOLDT. 



TJIEROPHANT of Truth ! thy marble brow 
* * Its ample breadth and height may well ex- 
pand 
In many a park and square of this our land, 
Where metropolitan myriads ebb and flow. 
For thou wert Liberty's apostle grand ; 
Truth, freedom, were thy watchwords evermore. 
From bondage to Semitic myths of yore, 
Barbaric dreams, has freed the world thy lore. 
The harmony the Samian only dreamed, 
Thine ear heard. Thou did'st not interpolate 
On Nature's Fasti petty human date, 
But wiser of her years eternal deemed. 
More sacred trust to marble ne'er was given 
Than thy grand brow, gauger of earth and heaven. 



11. 



An envoy from some grander sphere of night 
With larger knowledge, cosmic wisdom full 
To sharpen and illume our spirits dull, 
Star-travelled, on our orb thou did'st alight. 
Clearly beheld thy keen, clairvoyant sight 
Through adamantine mass the central core, 



90 To Humboldt. 

Where lonely Vesta tendeth evermore 

The eternal hearth-fire burning fierce and bright. 

Unterrified, with curious gaze serene, 

E'en when her mountain-chimneys shook the globe, 

Thou stood'st spectator of the awful scene, 

And saw her Earth with desolation robe, 

Where, neighboring heaven along the central line, 

With fires fuliginous the Andes shine. 



in. 



No cloistered theorist wast thou ; but 'neath 

The heaven of every zone, in light of sun 

And star, upland and lowland air did'st breathe. 

Your lore from Nature's own warm bosom won 

Is living wisdom and no idle dream. 

The tropic skies serene, fretted with fires 

Of Argo, Centaur, Aldebaran, seem 

Your Kosmos to o ? erarch ; the palm aspires 

Before your reader's eye ; the South's warm air 

He breathes ; the gently-heaving ocean hears 

Pulsing on golden strands ; savannas fair 

Of grass and flowers beholds ; while skyward rears 

Its walls the condor-haunted mountain chain, 

Whose peaks far off the blue of heaven stain. 



Monadnoc. 9 1 



MONADNOC. 



TO THE SUMMER TOURIST 



r\ REFUGEE, from lowland heat, 

^-^ Who findest on my heights a breezy seat — 

Pilgrim from rich-soiled prairie-land 

Ne'er until now by wind of mountain fanned, 

Behold a liberal arc of earth's periphery grand ! 

II. 

Feel'st not sublime enlargement here 

Inhaling bracing ether clear 

On Nature's bare, uplifted breast, 

With naught to hinder vision East or West, 

Beyond excursions of the farmer's plough, 

Which never scarred my cloud-compelling brow, 

Where floras wild nor tame can grow, 

Where on primeval rocks 't were vain to sow ? 

in. 

Feel'st not thy spirit with thy sight expand, 
As gazest thou on nether sea and land, 
Inspecting with a curious ken 
The haunts and tilth of much-contriving men, 



92 Monadnoc. 

Whose hands and brains persistent victory o'er 
Wild, sloven Nature conquer more and more ? 



iv. 



The vast and many-featured lowland world, 
Against whose misty marge the ocean-wave is 

hurled, 
Spire, forest, river, lake, and vale, 
And highway white, and trains, which wreaths of 

vapor trail, 
Far down beneath thine eyes, behold, unfurled ! 



v. 



List, while thy forehead cools my breeze, 

Unto a Mountain's many memories — 

No sacred poets in the foretime dim 

My haughty crest were here to hymn. 

Over a lyreless, savage waste I threw 

My valley-darkening shade from welkin blue ; 

No graceful Oread deigned to haunt my woods, 

Nor heard the pipe of Pan my solitudes. 

Not e'en with woodman's axe my gorges rung, 

What time the saffron morning sprung. 

My centuried, shapely pines succumbed at last 

To gravitation or tornado's blast — 

Unlike my old-world mountain peers, 

For immemorial years, 

While cave oracular and gorgeous shrine 

And haunted fountains cold, 



Monadnoc. 93 

Which with the lymph of inspiration rolled, 
Drew votaries to their heights for aid divine ; 
Here in the unfrequented West 
I reared, untrod, unsung, my lonely crest, 
Beyond the flight of Muses nine. 



VI. 



Yet though nought sentient knew me then 

Save savage beasts and beastlike men, 

My mountain functions cheerful I 

Fulfilled in loneliness of northern sky ; 

I wore woven in high air's loom 

My robes of glory and of gloom. 

In days serene my glance I sent 

Wide o'er the savage continent ; 

The distant ocean, once that laved my feet, 

When pines and billows sang in concert sweet, 

With signal fires of Morn and Sunset red, 

I greeted from my far-seen head, 

Still sadly mindful of the time 

When round my base was heard his monotone 

sublime, 
And basked I in a softer, tropic clime. 



VII. 



Once up my palm-plumed sides did pant 
The huge snake-handed elephant, 
For changes marvellous have swept o'er me 
In flower and beast and bird and tree. 



94 Monadnoc. 

VIII. 

A stern, petrific ice age did erase 

From off my sides each genial, tropic trace ; 

Gashed and denuded by its glacial plough 

At last on base and desolate ravine 

I felt upspring a temperate flora green, 

Till clothed and shapen as you see me now, 

Again I towered aloft in air serene, 

With silvery cloudlets drifting o'er my brow. 

IX. 

But truce to wild, primeval memories dim, 

Of vanishe*d and convulsive aeons grim, 

Whereof the deeply-furrowed scars 

I bear aloft among the stars. 

At length, after unnumbered years had flown 

Of shaggy wilderness lone ; 

Of floras and of faunas wild ; 

Of fenceless fields, whereon no tillage smiled ; 

Of bridgeless rivers, which no mill wheels turned, 

No tonnage floated but the bark canoe, 

Whereon their evening lights no cities threw ; 

Of glorious Autumn suns, which vainly burned, 

Because no heedful eye their splendor knew ; 

The globe-encircling Aryan came 

With possl girt of lower natures tame, 

With household Lares in his train 

And seeds of cultured flower and golden grain, 

At length his many-centuried exode far 

From sunrise reaching to the sunset's star. 



Monadnoc. 95 

x. 

Amid the pine and hemlock's leafage drear 

He planted Civilization's banner here ; 

At last the low of ruminant herd 

My mountain pastures' echoes stirred ; 

Far down my flanks the steepled village grew, 

And pale-faced vernal ploughmen furrows drew, 

While chanticleer his morning clarion blew. 



XI. 



Rippling in hot midsummer's breeze 

The golden ears of Ceres sprang ; 

The housefly buzzed ; murmured the bees, 

And with the bleat of flocks hill pastures rang. 

XII. 

O'er all the lowland world, 

The smoke of thousand hearth fires curled 

Upward in morning's red, 

And tinted by the sun hung roseate round my head. 

E'en Winter stern took on a cheerful glow 

From stir of human life below, 

Where silence erst and petrifying cold 

Were universal empire wont to hold 

Over the shaggy continent ; 

Save when the hissing snow all night its fury spent 

On shore, on forest, river, lake, and fen, 

And wigwams sparse of savage men 



g6 Monadnoc. 

Stirring the heart of sylvan nature wild 

To moans as of a grief ne'er to be reconciled. 

XIII. 

But all is different, changed and milder now, 
When in the August heats upon my brow 
Young lovers sit and cooing gaze 
On underlying towns and iron ways, 
And flash of spires in distance dim 
Of cities on the horizon's rim ; 
Unhymned no longer now I stand, 
As erst I stood above a savage land ; 
Thanks to a mighty bard I now am known 
Worldwide to men of every zone. 

XIV. 

Buoyant with youth the minstrel came 
And gave my lonely peak its mead of fame, 
Interpreting to lowland eyes 
Significance, that in my grandeur lies ; 
Up-gathering in his lofty rhyme 
Ideal harvests from my crags sublime, 
And chronicles of eldest time. 

xv. 

But he is dead and evermore 

My Oreads his loss deplore, 

Who made Monadnoc's name on every shore 

Famed as god-haunted mounts of yore. 



Berenice s Hair. 97 

He should have slept the long and final sleep, 
Where neighboring stars might nightly keep 
Their vigils o'er his sacred rest, 
Entombed upon my granite breast 
Far up above the haunts of men, 
But still within their vision's ken. 



BERENICE'S HAIR. 

E Bereniceo vertice caesariem 
Fulgentem clare. 

Catullus. 



1 N stellar sheen, 
* Ptolemaic queen, 

Your votive tress still men behold, 
Still palm-embow'red, 
And lotos-flowered 

Runs Nilus where you reigned of old. 

11. 

Still lives the verse. 
Whose lines rehearse 

How Conon, famed for starry lore, 
In Lion's lair 
Your gleaming hair 

Beheld enskied for evermore. 
7 



q8 Berenice s Hair. 

in. 

Siren of Nile 

With Paphian wile, 
And lavish loveliness rich-dowered, 

Not you alone 

From Egypt's throne, 
Heart-conquering glances round you showered. 



IV. 



Another face 

From haughty race, 
Like you, of fierce Epirus sprung, 

Before it bowed 

Triumvir* proud, 
Till with the love-tale wide earth rung. 

v. 

Her barge's gleam 
On Cydnus' stream 

Shines flashing still to farthest shore, 
In eyes of men 
Brush, chisel, pen, 

Have kept her radiant evermore. 



The aspic's bite, 
Which could unite 



* Mark Antony 



The Quail. 99 

With venom sweet death-sundered souls, 

Immortal verse 

Will still rehearse, 
While rivers flow and ocean rolls. 



THE QUAIL. 

SOUGHT I in my boyhood's vale 
Vainly for the whistling quail 
With its note portending rain 
Whistled o'er and o'er again — 
Plaintive, mellow, lonesome, wild 
'Witching me, a vagrant child. 

Orchard, meadow searched I through, 

But my charmer never knew 

Other than a tongue of air 

Luring me from field to field 

To find what feathered throat might yield 

A warble so abrupt and rare. 

An isle of quails old Homer sings, 
Where my boyhood's long-sought bird, 
Doubtless, is forever heard, 
Its mellow note forever rings. 

When ebbing life begins to fail 
Unto Quail-land I would sail, 
In its meadows hear once more 
The island's bird its sweet note pour ; 



ioo The Pleiades. 

Hear my boy-time's mystic strain 
Fluted in its fields again, 
Till summer's green and summer's sky 
Should seem unto my weary eye 
As fresh and bright as when I heard, 
A wayward child, Ortygia's bird ; 
Thus calmly, sweetly, could I die, 
Lulled by that note of days gone by. 



THE PLEIADES. 

THROUGH village trees 
The Pleiades 
High gleaming I behold, 
And as I gaze, 
Recall their rays 
The starry myths of old. 

The beauteous choir 

A sister's fire 
Extinguished still deplore,* 

Whose vanished beam 

Nor vale nor stream 
Lights up, nor sea nor shore. 

But still at even 
The glorious Seven, 
Though dimmed with grief, arise, 



* Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below. — Byron. 



The Pleiades. 101 

As when they gave 
To land and wave 
Spring's breath from Grecian skies ; 

As when their stars 

Were calendars, 
Which sailors, ploughmen read 

At eve on high 

In vernal sky, 
While cranes flew overhead. 

Old Homer's gaze 

Their welcome rays 
Saw through Ionia's air, 

When springtime's breeze 

Hushed wintry seas, 
And wafted odors rare. 

To battlefield 

Pelides' shield 
Their imaged splendor bore, 

But more their sheen 

Loved pastoral scene, 
Than sods bestained with gore. 

No stars arise 

To poet's eyes 
More sweet for thoughts they bring 

Of favoring gale, 

And bellying sail, 
And balmy air of spring. 



102 /// Memoriam. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

(CHARLES F. LOW.) 

T ONG sundered friend, thy star went down 
**-* In that peninsula of flowers, 
Where earth ne'er wears a wintry frown, 

And founts of youth keep green the bowers. 

A clime wherein to live, not die ; 

Whose scents and balms from far invite 
To sojourn 'neath a gentler sky 

Pale hectics smit with northern blight. 

What wooed thee to that southern shore, 

The Andalusia of the west ? 
Some dim surmise its waters bore 

An anodyne for thy unrest ! 

Spent swimmer, when the wind and foam 
Had conquered — o'er thy swooning brain 

What pleasant airs of youth and home, 
Preluding death, breathed once again ! 

Waved vainly on that tropic strand 
The orange thicket, palm, and vine, — 

Thy dying dreams were softly fanned 
By murmurs of the northern pine. 



Hawthorne s "Marble Faun." 103 

Thou didst not heed the flash and gleam 

Of tropic seas, the surf's uproar, 
But inly saw thy native stream 

Its mountain-cradled waters pour. 

Lone was thy death, no friendly eye, 
Nor succoring hand, to save was near ; 

Above, the mute and alien sky ; 
Around, the sea, thy heaving bier. 

Yet, from that sullen surge of death 
Thy stainless soul as lightly sprung 

As if to catch thy parting breath 

Some mourner fond had o'er thee hung. 

Henceforth that lone Floridian shore, 
Its fabled founts and gorgeous bloom, 

Are hallowed by one memory more — 
The legend of thy watery doom. 



HAWTHORNE'S "MARBLE FAUN." 

WHOE'ER the life of Italy would know 
Ere Rome arose, while yet her Seven Hills 
Were haunted thickets, he must surely go 
To Hawthorne's page— his mystic genius fills 
The prehistoric void, the sylvan days, 
When Saturn old was king, with sickle bright 
For sceptre — kindles he to gold the haze 
Of gray Etrurian centuries shedding steady light 
On times which Livy, Niebuhr, leave opaque — 



104 Carlyle and Emerson. 

Clairvoyant spirit ! Gentle Virgil, e'en, 
Like thee, clear retrospection could not take, 
Seeing the fauns and nymphs with eye serene 
Mingling their life in fountain-murmuring glen 
And vine-twined grove with that of mortal men. 



CARLYLE AND EMERSON * 

TN dust their perishable forms now lie, 
*■ But through the ages evermore 
Their thoughts like winged seeds to and fro will fly, 
And lodgment find on every shore. 

Though 'tween their graves a stormy world-sea rolls, 
Henceforth will they conjoined be reigning, 

Lake starry Dioscuri, close-leagued souls 
To wide and wider sway attaining. 

A bright Ithuriel was one, whose lips 

Clear organs were of reason pure ; 
Whose fulgent spirit knew not sin's eclipse — 

Life's mystery read with intuition sure, 

Touched him to an enthusiasm sweet 
The purple morning, budding spring, 

As in his intervale with devious feet 
He welcomed home each migrant wing. 



*Vide the "Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph 
Waldo Emerson." 



Carlyle mid Emerson. 105 

He knew one power, one inspiration wrought 

In star and clod, in bird and tree, 
In man and beast, and thus his verses taught 

Aright creation's chemistry. 

His earthlier brother delved in archives dim 
Of vanished years — man's tale retold — 

Fixed pole stars truth and justice shone for him — 
With seerlike might his utterance rolled. 

Perfervid genius of his race did burn 

In him with more than racial fire — 
Seemed back to earth strong Luther to return, 

As voiced he indignation's ire. 

Like Cyclops in his forge's lurid glow 

From shapeless mass Jove's bolts of thunder 
pounding, 
Refashioned he the world with sturdy blow 

On blow that rang from zone to zone resounding. 

Both preached a gospel of the present tense, 
An immanent God, who resteth never, 

Pervading, moulding with omnipotence 
The world as palpably as ever. 

And now in ocean-sundered graves they sleep, 
Nor waft each other words of cheer — 

No record Friendship's brightest annals keep 
Of amity more high, sincere. 



io6 To Bismarck. 



TO BISMARCK. 



[These lines were written many years ago, soon after the 
last attempt to assassinate the great German, when there 
were continual reports of his health breaking up. It seems 
that the circulation of such sinister rumors was one of the 
regular modes of attack of their dreaded adversary by the 
German Ultramontane journals, as was shown by a state trial 
in Berlin. Apropos of Redbeard of the Cave, or Frederic 
Barbarossa, Carlyle, in his " Life of Frederick the Great," 
says : " German tradition thinks Kaiser Barbarossa is not yet 
dead, but only sleeping till the bad world reach its worst, when 
he will reappear. He sits within the hill near Salzburg yonder, 
says German tradition, its fancy kindled by the strange noises 
in that hill (limestone hill) from hidden waters and by the 
grand rocky look of the place. A peasant once stumbling into 
the interior saw the kaiser in his stone cavern. Kaiser sat at 
a marble table, leaning on his elbow, winking, only half 
asleep ; beard had grown through the table and streamed upon 
the floor. He looked at the peasant one moment, asked him 
something about the time it was, then drooped his eyelids 
again. Not yet time, but will be soon ! He is winking as if 
to awake and set his shield aloft by the Roncalic fields again 
with ' Ho ! every one that is suffering wrong, or that has 
strayed devil-ward, guideless and done wrong, which is far 
fataler ! ' "] 



/^"VER Europe for this decade past, 
^-^ Thor's hammer thou hast wielded 
With such a crushing emphasis 
All barriers have yielded. 



To Bismarck. 107 

An epoch thou hast made, and art 

Entitled to vacation, 
To give thy sinews conflict-wrung, 

Chance for recuperation. 

If thou art Redbeard from the cave, 

Resume thy centuried dozing 
At Salzburg there, thy brain o'erwrought 

From cares of state reposing. 
No harm can come to Fatherland 

While thou again art sleeping ; 
For younger eyes the Rhine-watch stern 

Will through thy nap be keeping. 

Thy race is unified, and thus 

Thou hast fulfilled thy mission — 
E'en though a recreant moiety 

To priestcraft bow submission. 
Such are not Teutons, hearts of oak, 

Sons of the northern forest, 
Whose virgin manhood saved the world, 

Then when its need was sorest. 

The poor sham Caesar of the Seine, 

The senile priest of Tiber, 
Are impotent when grappling with 

Thy tough Teutonic fibre, 
Kant's " Critique " and thy needle-guns 

Have riddled hoar tradition, 
And struck with stupor moribund 

The anarch Superstition. 



108 To Bismarck. 

What though at times he wakes and tries 

To launch his creaking thunder ! 
The people gaze in mockery, 

And do not stand from under ; 
For German thought has cleared away, 

And German arms are clearing 
The spectres of the past, while day, 

The day of truth is nearing. 

Then, hail to Bismarck ! vainly seek 

Fanatic thugs to slay him ; 
Knowledge and truth, whose knight he is, 

In panoply array him ; 
The northern muse, Tuiskone, 

An oaken garland wreathing 
Entwines his brow, his meed of praise 

In notes heroic breathing. 

Odin in Valhall boasteth not 

A sterner, starker spirit, 
Old Fritz* and Luther's mantles both 

Their champion doth inherit. 
The Baresark marrow in his bones 

Preserve him long to mortals ! 
Ere Asgard shall, to welcome him, 

Swing wide its golden portals ! 

1874. 



The Old Gods, 109 



THE OLD GODS. 

Zeus. 

SHRANK I long since, O Jehovah, 
On my hill-throne to a shadow ; 
Ceased to summon into conclave 

Gods of ocean, stream, and meadow. 
Reigned I, while the nations dreaming 
Peopled air with shapes immortal, — 
Whom the poets saw in vision 
Thronging oft my cloudy portal. 

But e'en to the Age of Reason 

You your kingdom have extended, — ■ 
Naught have gained you ; your dominion 

Will at last like mine be ended. 
Storm-clouds on the heights of Sinai 

Form no more your dread pavilion ; 
Round its barren base no longer 

Kneel the low-browed, awe-struck million. 

Where we dwelt, the mountain ether, 

With its keen breath, chills and freezes,— 

Zion, Meru, and Olympus 

Fan no more celestial breezes. 

Jehovah. 

Feel I, too, I am a shadow, — 
Primal man's imagination 



1 1 o The Old Gods. 

Shaped me, throned me in the heavens, - 
Deemed the All my hand's creation. 

Of the Universe the vision 

On man's soul at length is breaking ; 
Scorns he now his ancient sky-gods, 

At whose bolts he erst was quaking — 
Law of duty in his reason, 

Not on stony tablets findeth — 
All things into ordered cosmos 

Feels the nameless might that bindech 

That through boundless space, duration, 

Restless, tireless throbs forever, — 
Thus illumined men our lieges 

Will be, as they erst were, never. 
Even now our airy sceptres, 

Bards, so loyal once, are scorning ; 
Myths they call us — men colossal, 

Visions of the young world's morning. 

Brahma. 

I, an oceanic essence, 

Formless, bodiless abstraction 
As a dream was ever worshipped, 

An abyss of mere inaction. 
O'er the golden horn of Meru 

Float I tranquil, calm as ever, 
Mindless, passionless my votaries 

Change from me cannot dissever. 



The Old Gods. 1 1 1 



Ormuzd. 



I, an optimistic vision, 

Am the good time always looming, 
When the earth, a sinless garden, 

Shall with amaranths be blooming. 

Odin. 

Darkly with its sky-wide branches 
Yggdrasil, the ash tree, waveth ; 

Dead was fairest Balder long since, — 
Wind of doom through Asgard raveth. 

Pantheos. 

As in inlets, bays, the ocean 

Ceaselessly its billows urges, 
So through finite spirits rolling 

Heave and flash my radiant surges ; 
Like the tranquil, cloudless ether, 

Plain and mountain-peak transcending, 
I, the pure and sovereign reason, 

O'er low vales of sense am bending. 

Through boundless space, expanded 

In the atom too I 'm dwelling ; 
Every moment feels me pulsing, 

Though through yEons I am swelling. 
When, in sense and languor sunken, 

Grovel every race and nation, 
Some great soul idea-drunken 

Make I stem the degradation. 



112 Personality. 

Pour I through his lips and glances 

Surge-like, flame-like life remoulding, 
Till eternal truth and beauty 

Man's purged eyesight is beholding, 
Gods provincial, cloud-compellers, 

Primal races, nations swaying ! 
Other than your petty sceptres 

Is the universe obeying ! 



PERSONALITY. 

T N the old books, the Bibles, Iliads. 
* Vedas, Eddas, and the rest written far 
Back in time, all power is personal — 
All power, efficacy, and might proceed 
From personality. Primitive man 
So thought. Earth was a person, the mother 
Who all things bore. Wheat nourished life be- 
cause 
The mother, Ceres, made it nutritive ; 
And wine made glad the heart because Bacchus 
Gave to it gladdening, festive potency. 
The thunder of the summer shower was hurled 
Forth from some red right-hand supreme in 
heaven. 

This personal force found everywhere of old 
By primal man, we, with far wider scope, 
Find only in ourselves and dumb relations, 



Personality. 1 1 3 

The lower animals, which are persons 
Rudimental. Intelligence and will, 
Which make up personality, are not supreme 
In nature. Higher powers than these create, 
Originate. These only can perceive 
And judge — too often erroneously — 
And use forces they find already at hand. 
Man is not central or final, but a link. 

No special pomp his advent marked, as if 
He were the crown of things. The countless stars 
Were shining, though not to light his entry ; 
Earth had already many guests ; she could 
Feed him among the rest. No cosmoplast 
Made him like statue from Assyrian clay, 
Red Mesopotamian earth, the master of 
A royal Asian park or paradise. 

Man gradually grew beginning low, 

To his erect and glorious symmetry, 

Sky-fronting brow, intelligence, and will, 

And voice articulate, reason's vehicle. 

He soon mistook himself for sovereign Lord 

Of all he saw, because he stood erect 

And had the skill to utilize nature. 

He in his monstrous, primitive conceit 

Thought all phenomena had reference 

To himself, a mere phenomenon 

Among the rest. Earthquakes had moral ends, 

And volcanoes flamed because of human sin ! 

In sign of woe at some proud mortal's death, 

3 



H4 Personality. 

The sun, with veil fuliginous, hid his face ! 

Birds flew, and lightning flashed, and meteors 

blazed 
Subservient to Etruria's augury ! 

If nature giveth special heed to man, 

Why drown eth him the sea-storm as readily 

As the rat which haunts the ship he sails in ? 

While all its populace were on their knees 

In act of worship proud Lisboa fell, 

Toppled into ruin by the earthquake. 

The insurgent sea o'erwhelmed it, while the earth 

Gaping devoured its suppliant myriads, 

Whose gods were helpless as their worshippers. 

Ascend some lofty mountain's brow, e'en in a land 

Most humanized, and gaze around. 

How small a figure man is in the scene ! 

The vast and solitary sky above, 

Desert of sunshine, wind, and azure air 

Bends o'er his cities, towns, and hamlets lone 

With an immensity which dwarfs them quite, 

Making them only less small than dwellings 

Of the ant and bee and bird. Thousands of years 

Of human occupancy leave no trace, 

Or scarce a trace, upon the unheeding earth, 

Whose soil, though sepulchre of nations grand, 

Bursts at the call of spring to wonted bloom, 

Wearing no widow's weeds nor signs of woe, 

Remembering not her evanescent lord 

Self-styled, Phoenician, Etruscan, Greek, who 



Personality. 1 1 5 

Piled her ages ago with glorious cities, 
Temples august, wherein the human shape 
Was deified as ruler of the whole, 
Creator and disposer of the world. 
Temples and cities now are wrecks. Their sites 
To nature have reverted, who with flowers 
As fresh as bloomed ten thousand years ago, 
When still unquarried were their columns fallen, 
O'erruns plinth, mossy architrave, graceful 
Ivied statues crushed, to show her forces 
Human glory or decadence heed not, 
Nor make sole aim of their activity. 
Thus holds she in her mighty arms 
The life of man, unit and aggregate ; 
Living ere he appeared, and blooming still 
Over the ruins of his noblest tribes. 

Look out 
Into the abyss of space, when overhead 
The thick-starred midnight mutely, grandly reigns ! 
No voice is heard, no personality 
In that ineffable expanse appears ; 
The power unspeakable which rules the all 
Sits not on thrones, wears not the human shape 
Of Aryan Thunderer or Semitic Jove. 
Higher than personal power creates, pervades, 
And rules the ineffable universe. 

A little provincial planet ours ; meek 
Pensioner on the bounty of the sun, 
Mighty metropolis of life and light. 



Ii6 Personality. 

But even He, with all his retinue, 

Is but an unmarked atom in the All ! 

Jean Paul, surnamed the On]y-One, depicts 

The universe as orphaned in his " Dream," 

If there be not somewhere, supremely throned, 

A personal God or giant man, Father 

Of Christ, of all the planets born on earth, 

Could such an one control the torch-dance wild, 

The grinding press of suns, he speaketh of, 

Which throng abysmal, boundless space ? 

Surely the mightiest personality 

Were weak with gravitation matched, or light, 

Or heat, or any mood of the unwearied power, 

The force of forces, heart of hearts, and soul 

Of souls, in all, who think, or will, or feel. 

'T were grossest arrogance, e'en in the Sun's 

Inhabitants, their orb imperial, 

To make the scene of mixture such as that 

The Galilean tale of incarnation 

Fables. The infinite power eternal, 

Which knitteth all in mystic unity, 

With mortal maid commingled on a time 

On this small globe, as was Olympian Zeus 

With lightning-blasted Semele in Thebes ! 

The myths are kindred and of equal sooth — 

Persons spring forth from Being Absolute, 

Who is their deepest self, and ebbs and flows 

In them as ocean in its friths and bays. 

Absolute being pulses through all things, 

Insensate atoms, as well as spirits, 

With ceaseless throb which knows not weariness. 



North Conway. 1 1 7 

Matter is spirit's bride and complement. 
There is no sacred nor profane, no high 
Nor low ; the eternal universe is 
In all its parts eternal ; concentred 
Equally in every point of space and time 
Extended matter and self-conscious spirit 
Glows, palpitates the Being Absolute 
Consecrating nought by dwelling specially 
In it, but alike informing all things. 
Knowledge at length has put the finishing stroke 
To primitive human pride and arrogance 
Which traced to human artifice the world, 
And, blind to its majestic order, dreamed 
'T was swayed by fickle human governance, 
And not by laws no supplication can 
For one brief instant nullify, no prayer. 



NORTH CONWAY. 

REIGNETH here the peace, seclusion 
Which the worn heart loveth well, 
Street and highway mountain-shadowed 

Seem entranced as by some spell 
Such as haunted Tempe's valley 

In the fable time of yore — 
Here to nymphs of fount and forest 
Sylvan shrines might rise once more. 



1 1 8 Nor tit Conway. 

Lord it giant ridge and summit, 

Up, where stars of twilight glow, 
'Mid her blasted pines wild Nature 

Laughs at puny man below. 
Softer seem the emerald meadows 

With their tilth and sward of green 
Calm reposing in the shadow 

Of the crags, which o'er them lean. 



Here along the devious highway 

Saunterers breathe untainted air, 
And in dell and whispering pine wood 

Refuge find from din and care. 
Looms aloft in middle heaven 

Monarch mountain's cone afar, 
Sweetly shines, as falleth twilight, 

O'er yon ridge the evening star. 



Not the scream of locomotive, 

As through wood and glen it pants, 
Nor the throng of summer idlers 

Conway's valley disenchants. 
Art and wealth with costly villas, 

More and more may crowd the scene, 
But unconquered o'er yon ridges 

Nature throned will still be queen, 



Breathe from out her pines and hemlocks 
A primeval, mystic spell, 



North Conway. 1 19 

Pride of puny art with splendors 

Of October's sunsets quell, 
Vindicate her right to worship, 

As men worshipped her of yore, 
Where, o'er haunted glens of Hellas, 

Immemorial mountains soar. 



As the human myriads thicker 

O'er the wide land spread and flow, 
And with hamlets, towns, and cities 

All its boundless surface sow, 
This still valley to the great world 

Will be shrine to noisy street, 
Inland haven, tired man's recess ; 

Mountain refuge T calm retreat. 

Rousseaus, Obermanns, nor Wordsworths 

Breathed have yet this mountain air, 
But ere long will sons of genius 

To these new world Alps repair. 
Here with stir of grand emotions 

Find their jaded spirits teem, 
Hither bringing their Penates, 

Make this vale our Academe. 



I2Q Sonnet to Heine. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HEINE. 



SONNET TO HEINE. 

Mein herz gleicht dem meere 
Hat sturm und ebb' und fluth, 
Und manche schone perle 
In seiner tiefe ruht. 

Heine. 

[""RESPITE his tuneful worship, Eros slew 
*— * His votarist, the silver cord unstrung 

Which held his life, and paralyzed his tongue, 
Though in his palmiest time the boy-god knew 

No lyre which in his praise more constant rung 
With strings vibrating in each breeze that blew, 
Whether the palm and orange southward drew 

His steps or North Sea's spray was o'er him 
flung. 
In depths of his clear spirit, far below 

The storm-vexed surface and the vulgar day, 

Full many a pearl of beauty gleaming lay. 
True bard, he felt the prophet's sacred glow 
The future of his fatherland to show 
At length triumphant o'er hereditary foe. 



Anticipation of Old Age. 121 



ANTICIPATION OF OLD AGE. 



A T last dull winter o'er my heart will reign, 
** Besnow my locks, with mist my vision blear ; 
In moss-grown tombs my friends will long have lain, 
While I, an unreaped stalk, stand lonely here. 



New generations will to life have sprung 
With hopes, ideals, which I never knew— 

Strange names will then be heard, new songs be 
sung, 
And mine forgot be cherished but by few, 



in. 



Who haply still will honor me forlorn, 
As dull oblivion claims me for its own, 

While meet I from the many only scorn, 
And love, effusion of the heart, from none. 



* A free, versified translation of a beautiful prose passage 
in Heine's " Ideen, Das Buch, Le Grand," 1826. 



122 



A nticipatiou of Old Age. 



IV. 

My mouldering harp then roseate boys will bring 
And place it laughing in my trembling hand, 

" Silent too long, O lazy graybeard, sing 

The songs wherewith in youth you charmed our 
land." 



And I shall take the harp and sweep each chord, 
And tears will bloom in my dim eyes again, 

As falters on my lips each tuneful word 
Of old-time lays with tremulous refrain. 

VI. 

From off my vision melts the mist of years, 
Old joys and sorrows in me wake once more, 

While on my harp-strings glisten trembling tears 
Of sweet regret from full heart running o'er. 

VII. 

And as again the river blue I see, 

The palaces that shadows o'er it fling, 

And maidens fair, who beckoning smile on me, 
Rapt into song of Brenta's flowers I sing. 

VIII. 

'T will be my farewell lay — on me again, 

As in the nights of youth, the stars will gaze, 

And nightingales, long dead, renew their strain, 
While kiss my cheeks the moon's enamoured rays. 



Greeting the Sea. 123 



IX. 

As works the spell, in sleep my eyes will close, 
And like my harp-notes die my soul away, 

While o'er it breeze of memory softly blows 

Perfumed with scents from Brenta's flowers 
astray. 

x. 

My northern grave the palm-tree may not shade, 
For there its pillared foliage ne'er would bloom ; 

Beneath a linden shall my dust be laid, 
And o'er it lovers sit in twilight's gloom. 

XI. 

There, while my sad tree, darkling, softly sighs, 
And rocks the greenfinch silent in its boughs, 

The happy ones will scarcely bend their eyes 
Upon my headstone, busy with their vows. 

XII. 

But thither, when in lonely after years, 

Sad memory the swain bereaved shall lead, 

He oft and long my legend through his tears, 
" He loved the flowers of Brenta," then will read. 

GREETING THE SEA. 

T GREET thee, O thou everlasting Sea ! 

Ten thousand greetings give I unto thee 
With heaving and exultant breast, 
As greeted thee of yore 



1 24 Greeting the Sea. 

Ten thousand Grecian hearts 

With homesick passion yearning for the West, 

From iron sleet of keen barbaric darts 

At length escaped, and famous evermore 

In every following age on every shore. 

The billows foamed and rolled, 
The biHows flashed and roared ; 
The Sun his roseate splendor poured 
As they the Euxine's waves once more behold ; 
In clamorous flocks the gulls affrighted flew, 
As shoreward rushing hove their ranks in view ; 
Steeds stamped and clanging bucklers rung, 
As shouted in full paean every tongue, 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! * 

Thus hail I thee, 

O thou eternal Sea ! 

As speech of home thy billowy anthems seem, 

The sparkle of thy brine I see like childhood's 

dream, 
While fondly I recall 

The loves and gorgeous toys of other days, 
The gifts of Christmas, roseate coral sprays, 
The goldfish, pearls, and iridescent shells 
Which thou, with thy mysterious spells, 
Guardest in thy translucent palace hall. 



* Old Greek word meaning sea, which was shouted by the 
soldiers of Xenophon when they came in sight of the Euxine 
sea after their long and successful retreat from Upper Asia to 
the coast. 



The Pine and the Palm. 1 2 5 

How have I longed for thee, 

O thou sonorous Sea 

When exiled from thy shores afar ! 

As withered roses are, 

When in herbarium pressed, 

So lay my heart within my breast. 

On thee, blue Ocean, gazing, feel I now, 
As once I felt from dim sick-chamber going, 
After a winter-long confinement drear, 
When blinded me the dazzling atmosphere, 
The brightness and the bloom of emerald Spring, 
Of orchards with white blossoms blowing, 
While all the scented air with joy was ringing, 
And in blue heaven the birds were singing, 
Thalatta ! Thalatta ! 



THE PINE AND THE PALM. 

A PINE in the north stands lonely 
High on an upland cold — 
It slumbers, while ice and snowflakes 
With raiment white it fold. 



Of a palm afar it dreameth 
In depths of morning-land, 

That alone in sadness pineth 
O'er a waste of burning sand. 



126 The Thoughts of Love. 



THE THOUGHTS OF LOVE. 

A S in the field the waving wheat-stalks grow, 
**■ So in man's spirit harvests fair 
Of thoughts are blooming in ideal air, 
Love's tender thoughts are flowers of red and 

blue 
Between the stalks that blow, 
Blossoms of red and blue, 
Which star the field with various hue. 

The churlish reapers fling you, flowers, aside, 

As good for naught to use, 

While scornfully the flails your blossoms bruise. 

E'en poor wayfarers, whom 

Delights and cheers your beauteous bloom, 

Their heads are won't to shake 

And naught of you but lovely weeds can make. 

But she, the rural maid, 

The garland-weaver fair 
With reverence gathers you to braid 

In tresses of her golden hair. 
And thus adorned unto the dance hies she 

Where pipes and fiddles make a festal noise, 
Or to the stilly beechen tree 

Where sweeter sounds her lover's voice 

Than pipes and viols' melody. 



A Mountain Idyl. 127 

A MOUNTAIN IDYL. 
From " Harzreise," 1824. 

THE fir-trees round it rustle, 
Above shines moon of gold, 
Where on the mount it standeth, 
The hut of miner old. 

An elbow-chair it boasteth, 

Fair carven to the eye ; 
Who sits therein is lucky — 

The lucky one am I. 

A footstool holds the small maid, 

Her arm upon me lies ; 
A red, red rose her mouth is, 

Two blue stars are her eyes. 

Gaze up to me the blue stars, 

As I were skylike tall ; 
She roguishly her finger 

Lays on her rose-mouth small. 

" No, mother us regards not 

So busily she 's spinning ; 
And father on his zither 

The old tune keeps a dinning." 



128 A Mountain Idyl. 

The small maid whispers softly 
With voice suppressed and low : 

" Full many a weighty secret 
As confidante I know. 

" But, since my aunt departed, 
We go to town no more ; 

The city's gests and pageants 
We see not as before. 

" Aloft here dwell we lonely 
On mountain cold abiding — 

Us winter's high-piled snowdrifts 
As in a grave are hiding. 

" And I, a timid maiden, 
Am stricken with affright 

At noise of mountain kobolds 
So busy in the night." 

The dear one sudden hushed is, 
At her own words afraid. 

And o'er her eyes her small hands 
Are in her terror laid. 

The fir-trees louder rustle, 
Hums mother's wheel within, 

While on his zither father 
Keeps up the old tune's din. 

" Be not afraid, sweet maiden, 
Of mountain sprites malign, 



The Fisher -Girl. 129 

For day and night good angels 
Keep watch o'er thee and thine." 

Knocks at the cabin window 

Fir tree with fingers green ; 
The moon, eavesdropper silent, 

Pours in its golden sheen. 

In bedroom, nigh, soft snoring, 

The sire and mother sleep ; 
But we, with sweetest prattle, 

Each other wakeful keep. 



THE FISHER-GIRL. 

'"T'HOU lovely fisher-maiden, 
* O row thy boat to land, 
And let us here together 
Sit cooing, hand in hand. 

Thy dear head on my bosom 
Can fearless pillowed be ; 

Thyself thou daily trustest, 
Ah ! to the savage Sea ! 

And like the Sea, my heart, too, 
Hath storm and ebb and flow, 

And many a fair pearl gleameth 
In stilly depths below. 



130 The Fisherman 's Hut. 



THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 

A17ITHIN the fisherman's hut we sate, 

* " While darkling heaved the sea in sight, 
The mists of evening gradual came 

In dimness shrouding shore and height. 

At length the kindled lighthouse threw 
Out o'er the waves its guiding sheen, 

And in the offing far away 

A lonely ship could still be seen. 

Of storm and shipwreck then we spake ; 

Of sailor's life and how it blended 
Anxiety and joy, and seemed 

To be 'twixt earth and sky suspended. 

• 
Of far-off alien strands we talked 

In tropic glow and northern air, 
And of the peoples strange and quaint, 

With ways as strange found dwelling there ; 



Of Ganges' banks, that ever more 
Exhale perennial perfume ; 

Of silent votaries who kneel 
Before the Lotus in its bloom. 



The Avowal. 131 

Of Lapland's unwashed folk, low-browed, 
Wide-mouthed, diminutive in size, 

Who, crowding round their hearth-fires, bake 
Their fishy fare with shrillest cries. 

Listened the maid with look demure ; 

At length not one of us spake more — 
The lonely ship had vanished quite 

In darkness veiling sea and shore. * 



THE AVOWAL. 

A^/ITH twilight glimmer Evening came 
* ' Extinguishing the day's red flame, 
And wilder grew the ocean's roar, 
As sate I lonely on the shore, 
And far and wide with sweeping glance 
Looked forth upon the waves' wild dance. 
My bosom heaved, as heaved the sea, 
With homesick yearning, deep for thee, 
Whose form of beauty hovers ever 
Beside me, wheresoe'er I be ; 
WTiose sweet low voice is silent never, 
But everywhere seems calling me, 
In wild wind's whisper, surges' roar, 
Its accents haunt me evermore. 



This poem would seem to have suggested to Longfellow 
" Fire of Driftwood." 



132 The Avowal. 

I wrote with fragile cane in hand 
11 1 love thee, Agnes," on the sand, 
But foaming, thundering up the strand, 
The wicked waves did quick erase 
Of my avowal sweet all trace. 

volatile sand and fragile cane, 
And mad waves in your restless play 
Dissolving all things swift away, 

1 put no trust in you again, 

No more by you can be beguiled. 

Sky darker grew, my heart more wild, 

When with strong hand, where thickly spire 

The forests Vikings hewed of yore, 

A stately fir-tree I uptore 

And thrust in Etna's throat of fire, 

The stateliest fir-tree Norway bore. 

With such a giant, fire-tipped pen, 
" Llove thee, Agnes," wrote I then, 
A glowing legend there on high 
Upon the ceiling of the sky. 

Each night my fiery runes will blaze — 
No lapse of time will ere erase 
Their brightness, read of every race. 
"I love thee, Agnes," still the sky 
Will nightly blazon to each eye. 



The Question. 133 



THE QUESTION. 

Y\ 7TTH sadness of heart and trouble of brain 

* " A youth mused alone by the desolate main 
In the shadow of night — wildly he craves 
Response to his soul from the Sea's restless waves. 

The riddle of life — resolve it for me, 
Mystical, measureless, earth-girding Sea ; 
The enigma of life, which pondered in vain, 
Has perplexed through the ages many a brain, 
Made heads sweat with thought-pangs all the world 

over, 
Whate'er style of hat their thinking might cover, 
Caps woven with hieroglyphs, such as of yore 
Nile's priesthood and magi of Persia wore, 
Or turbans, berretas, perukes — none brought 
Unto the problem the requisite thought. 

The meaning of man, ah ! might I but know 
From you, ye sad waves, that moaningly flow — 
Whence comes he, unto what bourne will he go ? 
And who dwells aloft, where golden stars glow ? 

Murmurs the Sea its chime evermore — 
Bloweth the chainless Wind — fly the clouds o'er, 
Twinkle the stars apathetic on high, 
And he is a fool who expects a reply. 



1 34 The PJicenix. 



r "FHE Wind draws on its hosen, 
* Its hose of foamy white, 
And till they toss and bellow 
The waves its scourges smite. 

On darkling heights with fury 

Wild pours the rain-gust down- 
It is as if the old Night 

The Ocean old would drown. 

The mast the sea-gull graspeth 
With many a raucous cry, 

And fluttering all dishevelled 
Wreck seems to prophesy. 



THE PHCENIX. 

TT comes — a bird that flieth from the West, 
*■ Right eastward strain its pinions bright, 
To regions of the morning's light. 
It yearneth for its Orient garden home, 
Whence spicy merchandises come, 
Where palms are rustling, zephyr-stirred, 
And fountain murmurs cool are heard ; 
Thus homeward flying without rest, 
This song it sings — the wondrous bird : 



The Phoenix. 135 

" Him loveth she, him loveth she, 
And bears his image in her little breast, 
His image as a hidden treasure dear, 
And knows it not, but in her nightly rest 
He stands before her in a vision clear, 
His hands she kisses shedding many a tear, 
And fondly calleth him by name ; 
And calling, wakes and startled lies, 
And in her wonder rubs her beauteous eyes. 
She knows not what it all may be. 
Him loveth she, him loveth she." 

Against the mast-tree leaning 't was I heard 

The singing of the wondrous bird. 

Like steeds swart-green, with manes of silver 
streaming 

The foam-crests of the waves were whitely gleam- 
ing ; 

As flocks of swans with many a glittering van 

For canvas, air-ships white, sail over Helgoland, 

Where dwell the nomads of the North Sea's strand ; 

So over me the silvery clouds rolled through 

The eternal blue, 

And flashed the eternal sun, 

The rose of heaven and blossom vast of fire, 

That mirrored in the sea itself could view, 

Heaven, sea, and mine own heart, accordant choir, 

In full, melodious unison. 

The words re-echoed with our voices three, 

Him loveth she, him loveth she. 



136 The Stars, 



THE STARS. 



IMMOVABLE they stand, 
* The changeless stars on high, 
While in swift flight they see 
Millennial years go by. 

Immovable they stand, 
And on each other rain 

Their interblended rays 
With love as deep as vain. 

Melodious and sweet 

Their starry language flows, 
But no philologist 

Its spheral music knows. 

But I their speech have learned, 
Naught can its words erase, 

For me as grammar served 

My sweetheart's beauteous face. 



On wings of song a-flying 
I bear thee forth, away, 

Where Ganges stream is flowing 
'Neath lids of Orient day. 



The Stars. 137 

To garden red with roses, 

In moonlight calm that lies, 
The lotos flower awaiteth 

Thee there with sleepless eyes ; 

The violets kiss and fondle, 

Gaze up at stars above, 
While roses are narrating 

Their fragrant tales of love. 

Gazelles in covert lurking 

Are bounding to and fro, 
While in the distance murmurs 

The holy river's flow. 

There will we sink together, 

Where palm-tree's foliage gleams, 

And, love and rest deep drinking, 
Lie dreaming happy dreams. 

in. 

The lotos bloom — it shrinketh 

In splendor of the sun, 
And with drooped head awaiteth 

Night's shadow — dewy, dun. 

The moon, that is her lover, 

Awakes her from her dreaming. 

Her flower face she unveileth 
Unto its tender beaming. 



138 Night on the Beach. 

She blooms and glows and brightens 
Exhaling odorous sigh ; 

For love she weeps and trembles 
And gazes mute on high. 



NIGHT ON THE BEACH. 

\\ 7ITHOUT a star the gloom to cheer 
" O'er yawning Sea the chill night fell — 

The North-wind through its shadows drear 

Is breathing many a Runic spell, 
Weird legends singing to the waves 

And Eddas wild of long ago — 
As if in fury, now he raves — 

Now croons his notes in accents low. 

A sturdy grumbler now he seems — 

To humorous mood next changes he — 
Anon he madly laughs and screams, 

Till leap the waves all wild with glee. 
Meanwhile along the level shore 

His steps a stranger swiftly urges, 
And in his breast a heart he bore 

More restless than the winds or surges. 

The sea-shells crackle 'neath his tread, 
Which striketh many a fiery spark, 

As wrapt in mantle gray he sped 

With swift strides through the windy dark, 



Night on the Beach. 1 39 

A ray of light with cheering lure 

Athwart the gloom beholds he streaming ; 

The tiny beam with guidance sure 
From lonely fisher's hut is gleaming. 

While out at sea, her brother, sire 

Are tossed upon the stormy water, 
Alone to tend the household fire 

Remains the fisher's lovely daughter. 
Upon the hearth the maiden bright 

Sits listening to the kettle singing, 
To feed its blaze the brushwood light 

She ever and anon is flinging. 

Now into sweet relief her face 

Is brought, as ruddy flames flash bolder, 
And now, in coarse chemise the grace 

Of either whitely-rounded shoulder. * * * 
The door wide open sudden flies 

And night-bound stranger enters there, 
Love-smitten straightway rests his eyes 

Upon the maid so slender, fair. 

Before him standeth she to view, 

As lily pallid grows her cheek — 
To earth his cloak the stranger threw, 

And laughing, thus began to speak : 
" I come, my child, as long ago 

Came gods in vanished ages, when 
Full oft descended they below 

To mate with daughters fair of men. 



140 The Land of Youth. 

" But stare not thus, sweet child, at me — 

Let not my godlike form affright ye — 
But, prithee, boil a pot of tea, 

And dash it, dear, with aqua vita. 
For out-of-doors 't is passing chill, 

The eager night-air keenly blowing — 
E'en gods such weather maketh ill, 

Catarrhs and rheums, sad gifts, bestowing. 



THE LAND OF YOUTH. 

For Youth disports in pastures of its own — 

No anxious night-thought e'er its breast alarms — 

Its easeful hours are fraught with joy alone — 

Nor shower, nor storm, nor heat of heaven it harms. 

Sophocles. 

['Ma voyager and a pilgrim, 
* Not to alien strands in sooth, 
But in thought I visit often 

Pleasant fields of vanished Youth. 

By the light of memory guided, 

As the sailor by his star, 
Backward through the Past's dim vistas, 

Journey I in thought afar ; 

To life's Morning-land I travel, 

O'er a waste of weary years, 
See again the pleasant faces 

Of my Youthtime's buried peers. 



The Land of Youth. \\\ 

Morning's dew still pearl-like glistens 

On the verdure of that land — 
Health and vigor there inhale I 

From the matin breezes bland. 

All things, as they were, remain there — 
Saddens not the heart one change — 

From Youth's uplands can the vision 
Over glorious prospects range. 

Far-off mountains' skylike azure- 
Vales with pastoral peace profound — 

And the gleam of domes and steeples 
On the far horizon's round. 

Standing there in thought again I 
See the world, as 't was in youth, 

When I deemed that -at Life's banquet 
I had come to stay in truth. 

When I deemed that Death for others 

Was and not at all for me — 
When a glorious May-bloom purpled 

Whatsoe'er my eyes could see. 

Standing on Youth's uplands thus I, 
'Mid a long-dead youthful band, 

See again the future stretching 
Like a sunset vista grand : 



142 The Land of Youth. 

Golden mountains, happy islands 
In the purple of the west — 

All things in the earth and heaven 
In the tints of faerie drest. 



Strains of mighty poets thrill me, 
As they thrilled me long ago — 

And again sweet lips and faces 
Make me bliss of love to know. 

But this dream of Youth soon over 
Leaves me sadly to repine ; 

For Youth is intoxication 
In itself and without wine : 

'T is a glowing dream, illusion 
Steeping common earth in light — 

It is genius, inspiration, 
And ineffable delight. 

Health and beauty are its minions — 
Then are brightest sense and soul- 
Earth is an Alcina's garden, 

O'er which seasons cloudless roll. 



While it lasts all things enduring 
Permanent and real seem, 

And we laugh at old saws calling 
Life a shadow and a dream. 



The La?id of Youth. 143 

Round us blooms a grove of kindred,* 
All our friends are fresh and fair ; 

Full of boundless hope we build then 
Gorgeous castles in the air. 

Solitude we seek full often 

O'er our thoughts that we may brood, ' 
Noonday reverie in lonely places, 

Pine-embowered, where none intrude. 

From the wreck of hopes, endeavors, 

That our later lives must know, 
From amid the graves of dear ones, 

Sadly back our glance we throw, 

To the happy world of Youthtime, 

To the morning's red and dew, 
When like us the earth and heaven 

Seemed just fashioned fresh and new ; 

When upon no graves we stumbled — 
Knew the breathing world alone — 

Only heard life's festal music. 
Undepressed by sign or moan ; 

World of dear familiar faces, 

And unbroken kindred ties, 
More and more in dim past fading, 

As the swift hour o'er us flies, 



* " A grove of kindred " is an expression borrowed from 
Wordsworth. 



144 TJie Land of Youth. 

Will there be at length renewal 

Of the joys, hopes, lovers you gave ? 

Will there be of youth revival 
In some land beyond the grave ? 

Pleasant 't is at times to visit 

Old haunts, where one's boyhood sprung, 
'Mid life's evening shadows musing 

Where we dreamed when we were young. 

Prizes of success no longer 

Have the charm they used to wear, 

With Youth's health and fresh emotions, 
Fame or wealth can ne'er compare. 

Tenure frail by which we hold them 
Makes life's prizes poor, indeed, 

Even of the brightest genius 
Lethe is at last the meed. 



Loud and all-absorbing Present 
More and more disdains the Past, 

O'er our later lives its shadows 
By the tomb are darkly cast. 

We are pilgrims travelling whither ? 

Towards some fabled better land, 
Which the bards and saints and sages 

Have beheld in visions grand ? 



To A. L. R. 145 



TO A. L. R. 

A POET thee in other years did love : 
**- Thy face was starlight to his fervid dreams, 

And of thy morning charms stiH sunset gleams 
Attest how potent was the spell they wove 
Around thy glorious minstrel's lonely heart. 

Thee in his deathless verse he did enshrine, 

Thy name embalmed in many a burning line, 
And of his wide renown give thee a part. 
Long since were broke his heart and fitful lyre 

By adverse fate ; his threne long since was sung. 

But more and more in every clime and tongue, 
His fame is spread, which owns the poet's fire ; 

While still thou charm'st e'en though no longer 
young, 
As when thy minstrel's soul thou did'st inspire. 



TO MRS. HARRIET P. S. 



QWEET poetry, the exhalation sweet 
^ Of a most lovely soul, bears far thy name, 
But thou than any verse that gives thee fame, 
A finer poem art, than e'er on feet 
Melodious was hailed with wide acclaim. 



146 To Mrs. Harriet P. S. 

The scribe, renowned himself, is often tame, 

Whom disillusioned his admirers meet, 

Because close seen he hath nor charm nor flame. 

But thou a peerless lady art — of yore 

The errant knight bowed low to such as thee 

With deepest reverence on bended knee, 

To dauntless valor nerved for evermore. 

Your lyre and pen, potential though they be, 

Are scarce remembered, when yourself we see. 



11. 



Like Lady of Shalott thou art embowered — 

In river-girdled isle * like her abiding. 
A magic web she wove all richly flowered, 

While down to Camelot the stream was gliding. 
The textiles, which thou weav'st, are of the brain, 

With blossoms of imagination richly wrought. 
The ripple of the River in thy strain 

And Ocean's scents are on the breezes brought. 
A glorious environment of sky 

And sea and stream and pine-plumed shores are 
thine, 
Where Night and Day feed full the poet's eye, 

And Morn and Sunset at their fairest shine. 
Thou art a new-world Sappho, and to thee 

Thy mate might, if he chose, Alcaeus be. 



* Deer Island, Merrimack River. 



Cockaignes. H7 



COCKAIGNES. 



DEATH, toil, and penury, and pain 
Make mortal life a serious thing, 
Which else were frivolous and vain : 
They are its salt, its seasoning. 

The lands of ease, which poets feign, 

Which ploughless yield the golden grain, 

Are fictions of luxurious brain. 

The soul their idlesse- would disdain. 

Not rest, but motion, is its mood, 
Ascent to higher altitude. 



ODORS. 



MOODS of ourselves these odors rare, 
Which seem to haunt the outer air, 
Only the dust of flowers is there. 
Spiced airs may blow and censers swing 
And breathe the balmy breath of spring ; 
They only viewless atoms bring 
In Sense's portal to be strewed, 
Fragrance is soul's ambrosial mood. 



148 Odors. 

Insentient Nature joyless, dark, 
Awaits the spirit's kindling spark. 
Her swift vibrations beat in vain 
Unless they reach the sentient brain. 
Light, music, odor then are born 
Investing solitude forlorn. 
Brain is the spirit's living strand, 
'Gainst which ethereal surges pour ; 
A fivefold intonation grand 
Resounds along that mystic shore ! 

Pursue the weird analysis 

And even Nature spirit is. 

Her forces to fixed ends confined 

Relentless-seeming, dark and blind 

Are fulgurations of the Eternal mind. 

In far perspective melt, I wis, 

The rock-ribbed hills to folds of mist. 

No fabled hyle dull and dead 

Is choking space, but in its stead 

Rushes and foams the stream of might 

Forever full and infinite ; 

The galaxies like sands of gold 

Are in its torrent sparkling rolled. 



A Leaf of Cypress. 149 



A LEAF OF CYPRESS. 

IN MEMORIAM M. B. 

"P AR eastward swells a lone sepulchral mound, 
A And there my youthtime's sweetheart bright is 

sleeping 
An unawakening slumber, while around 
Bewail her dark-leaved pines and night-dews weep- 
ing. 

Amid her dust perchance a single tress, 
Survival sole of mouldered loveliness, 
Some of its whilom gloss may yet be keeping. 
Not all the years, that o'er me have been sweeping, 
Have thought of her steeped in forgetfulness, — 

E'en now, when wild Eolian night-winds blow, 

Through Dreamland's gates into the long-ago, 

Where roses of perpetual May-time grow, 

Adown the silent ways of sleep I go 

And there amid the far past's green domain 

My buried sweetheart clasp I once again, 

Still sitting in the old familiar room, 

Demure, unchanged in all her maiden bloom. 

No grain of grave dust in her hair is seen 

That twines her forehead with its old-time sheen, — 



150 Birds of Passage. 

While seems to glow upon my lips her breath 
Obtrudes on me no sombre thought of death, 
As close and fond we tete-a-tete once more, 
Seem sitting as in golden days of yore, 
Till gently touched by morning's luminous hand 
I sadly wake outside of fairyland. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

SUNWARD and southward they 've flitted away, 
In the bright zone of palms they are playing; 
In heavens of blue and summer's glad ray 
From the north wind afar they are straying. 

In those regions of sunshine they '11 linger, 
Until spring to these orchards returning, 

From the Cross of the South back shall bring her 
Gay truants, where the North-star is burning. 

E'en in climes of the sun, with their splendor 
Of ether and bloom, the magnet of home 

Draweth still with attraction most tender 

The pilgrim in youth lured southward to roam. 

Thus in spring from the sunlands are flying 
Swallows and bluebirds, o'er islands and seas ; 

To the dim, pallid North they are hieing, 
To far native orchards, gardens, and trees. 



H 



Domus Nympharum. 1 5 l 



DOMUS NYMPHARUM. 

OUSE of the nymphs, fair fable beings fled, 
But still the glamor wild of forest shades, 
Of silent, sylvan, dim arcades 
And oxygen of hemlock and of pine, 
Whose night-dark boughs perennial twilight shed, 
E'en when the summer noontides fiercest shine, 
Awake the thought of care-free lives in idlesse 

spent 
In sylvan merriment, 
Of Rosalind in Ardennes green, 
Of Robin Hood amid his archers keen, 
Of woodmen and woodcutters strong, 
Who make the mountain gorges ring, 
While 'neath their strokes the trees are quivering, 
Who lead longeval lives with priceless wealth 
Of buoyant, primitive health, 
Such health as did to faun-men old belong. 
Medicinal boughs the pine trees wave, 
And in their bracing ether calm, 
Odorous with subtle, resinous balm, 
Hygeia finds an ever-grateful home, 
With canopy of needled leaves for dome, 
And with a dim, crepuscular daylight grave. 
What though the Dryads beautiful have flown, 
Still mystic is the hush of forests lone, 
As when the pipe of Pan was heard 
And boughs with shouts of Dian's train were stirred. 



152 Love and Tempest. 

Bronzed with the sunset's farewell gleams, 

Or glorified with morning's red, 

Or sultry with midsummer's steams, 

The tranquil forests still allure, 

Still wake the thought of golden ages fled, 

Of loves and lives Arcadian, pure, 

Of festal, primitive tribes beneath the shade 

Of woods Hesperian by old Saturn swayed. 



LOVE AND TEMPEST. 

Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem 
Et dominam tenero detinuisse sinu. — Tibullus. 

""T 1 IS sweet in the lone night, when tempests 

* rave 

Without, the loved one to the heart to fold, 
Which deeper bliss, fruition cannot crave, 

For none more perfect comes to mortal mould. 
The storm the warmth of love more downy makes 

In double night of darkness, tempest wild ; 
Which though it walls and turrets rudely shakes 

Harms not the lovers in their bliss inisled. 
Where e'en the sighs are pleasure's breathings deep 

And kisses, what the heart would tell, express, 
And downy-plumed and honey-dewed soft sleep 

Folds them in embrace close of tenderness. 
Wail, night wind, while they dream, and rain-drops 

weep, 
Your sobs their lids in balmier slumbers steep. 



Lines. 153 



LINES. 



A FEW fresh flakes of wintry snow, 
*"*• 'T is true my unthinned locks bestrow, 
Whilst thou, by whom my heart is rent, 
All May-bloom art and lilac scent. 
Breathes round thee, darling, soft and low, 
Of youth the violet-perfumed wind ; 
Again I feel my bosom glow 
With dreams I thought were left behind. 
But ah ! 't will never fade nor die — 
Love's passionate idolatry. 
Where blooms a form as fair as thine 
He buildeth, as of old, his shrine ! 



One kiss from thee and I am young — 
My heart re-youthed, my nerves re-strung ! 
The burden of the palsying years 
Falls off, dissolves, and disappears. 
The gates of Dawn re-opening show 
An orient heaven with roseate glow. 

Then let me breathe, in softest strain, 
Into thine ear my fond heart's pain, 
While from mine eyes the sweet tears rain. 
Recall me from the slopes of time 
Back to the morning's heights sublime. 



154 Utopias. 

Thy love has power, if it is mine — 
It is ? Then stars propitious shine ; 
I crave no more, no deeper bliss, 
Than thou canst lavish with a kiss ! 



CORINNE— CONSUELO. 

CWEET sister Pleiades ! together now 

^ Your beams you mingle in the heaven of 

fame, 
Immortal radiance conjoined you throw 

From starry heights, where all men you acclaim. 
Rejoice Corinne ! in loneliness so long 

Insphered ; a sister-planet mounts at last 
In triumph, girt with light and song, 

Henceforth with thine her equal rays to cast. 
Starred tress of Berenice, shine no more, 

And, Crown of Ariadne, hide your fire ! 
At length your constellated reign is o'er, 

A brighter cluster joins the starry choir. 
Corinne, Consuelo, mingled splendors shed, 
Henceforth the vesper-planets of the dead ! 



UTOPIAS. 



T^HE breeze of hope for ever blows ; afar, 
Through vistas of the future, ever shine 
Cities of God and commonwealths divine, 

Happy Utopias with gates ajar, 



Foreign Travel. 155 

Where all men free and equal brothers are, 
And life is easy, without aught to mar 

Its hours of bliss, and love and friendship twine 
Immortal wreaths, and nectar flows for wine. 

There grace and beauty are each woman's dower, 
And brains and wealth are lavished upon all, 
So that no citizen to want is thrall. 
Perpetual spring, with dewy grass and flower, 
There paves the Elysian soil, and sun and shower 
Weave rainbows, while no tempests ever lower. 



FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

THE vast sky dwarf eth all below, 
*■ That man has reared or earth can show 
Then wherefore wander to and fro ? 
Mount, minster, pyramid, and sea 
Are trivial matched with cosmic space 
And pomp of worlds which night displays : 
Then wherefore bird of passage be ? 
In every land, the stir and strife 
Are for the bread that feedeth life : 
One spot, one people, teacheth all 
The lore of this terrestrial ball. 

The relics of the past are vain : 
The haughty palace, pillared fane, 
Cemented were with human blood. 
And bestial keep the multitude. 



156 Sunrise. 

Lone prairie of the unploughed West, 
That poor man welcomes to its breast 
With wheaten plenty, land and home, 
Is fairer spot than storied Rome. 
The old states moulder into dust 
With all their pomp of palace, shrine, 
And sceptred sway by right divine, 
Because to man they are unjust. 
What though the golden prairie flower 
Blooms not amid superb decay ? 
The rising, not the fallen tower 
It perfumes, — structures of to-day : 
For people, not for priest or king, 
Their doors unfold, their arches spring. 



SUNRISE. 
Y\ 7ITH sudden flash behold the sun 
* " New-risen intensely burning, 
To glorious Cosmos once again 

Night's formless chaos turning ! 
His blinding splendor flows abroad 

In mighty inundation : 
What wonder that the primal man 

Bent low in adoration, 
As if he heard ring in his ear 

The fiat of creation ? 

Apocalypse more grand, august, 
To prophet ne'er was given, 

When, into awful vistas oped, 
He saw the future riven, 



The August Cricket. 157 

The misty mountain-tops and vales 
With Memnon-strains seem sounding 

To hymn day's luminary vast 

Once more old night confounding. 



THE AUGUST CRICKET. 

CINAL month of fervid summer, 
■*■ Pleasant are thy latter days ; 
Foretaste of the autumn have we 
In thy mitigated rays. 

Sweet it is to sit and listen 

By one's hearth-stone all alone, 

Basking in the dewy moonshine, 
To the cricket's monotone. 

Ah, how often have I listened 
In how many years now fled 

To that weird, incessant murmur 
With the clear moon overhead ! 

And once more the old note soundeth 

In this latest of the years, 
While I think that most have vanished 

Of my youthtime's friends and peers. 

Me the coming, going seasons 
In this breathing world still find, 

Bloom of spring and heat of summer 
And the winter's bitter wind. 



158 The Teuton. 

But though pensive with emotions, 
Such as long experience brings, 

Still the old spell feel I working, 
When the August cricket sings. 

When the thistle-down is floating 
Down the shining tides of air. 

And departing summer showeth 
In her final days most fair. 



THE TEUTON. 

'"THE servile creed of dreamers old, 
* Who idled 'neath a Syrian sun, 
Was suited not to Teuton bold, 

Though o'er him sway it strangely won. 

Despite his alien cult, he turned 

To'smiter's hand no craven cheek, — 

At wrong with indignation burned, 
To taunt and insult ne'er was meek. 

Spare fast was never to his mood, 

But copious draught and liberal cheer : 

He prayed not for his daily food, 
But gathered it with toil severe. 

The soil and climate of his birth 

Brooked not the idle, saintly drone ; 

But wintry storm and rugged earth 
To thrift and skill were kind alone. 



The Poet and the River. 1 59 

The oak and ash-tree gave him shade, 
To mast and oars he hewed the pine, 

And boldly drifted south to raid 
On regions of the palm and vine. 

His heaven was a heroes' hall 

Of revel after conflict grim, 
Which duly ceased, as twilight's fall 

Wrapped Asgard in its shadows dim. 



Y 



THE POET AND THE RIVER. 

Poet. 

OUR banks are always full, 
O valley-gladdening River, 
Though in the sea your stream 

Is disappearing ever. 
The tide of life which runs 

My arteries along, 
With every lapsing year 

I feel less swift and strong. 
Who feeds your swelling flood, 

As brimmingly it flows, 
So that, though ever spent, 

Exhaustion ne'er it knows ? 

River. 

I mediate between 

The Mountain and the Sea, 
The sunset-reddened heights 

Purveyors are for me. 



1 60 The Poet and the River. 

They milk the clouds, which fold 

Their summits lone and high, 
And thus the upland urn, 

Whence spring I, ne'er is dry. 
Though at my mouth I lavish 

My waters on the Sea, 
No wastefulness, unthrift 

Is chargeable to me ; 
My ocean-drunk deposit 

Great Nature pays again 
In inland-wafted largess 

Of clouds and dew and rain ; 
Of clouds, which steeped in sunset 

In gold and purple lie, 
Like Islands of the Happy, 

Along the -evening sky ; 
In rain, which feeds my fountain, 

My watershed on high, 
With such a vaporous bounty, 

Its basin ne'er is dry. 

Poet. 

Not thus with me does Nature, 
The mighty mother, deal, 

Replenishing the vigor 

Which swift years from me steal. 

My vital current runneth 
An ever-shrinking tide, 

As over me the Seasons 

In fleet succession glide. 

n 



Pygmalion. 161 



THE REVOLUTION. 

THERE is no pause. Still blow resounds on 
* blow, 

The order old making to shake and reel 
From base to pinnacle. To dust brought low, 
Crescent and Cross the shock of ruin feel. 
Shallow Reaction tries in vain to stem 
The Revolution's surge, which more and more, 
Drowning tiara, throne, and diadem, 
Spreads undulating wide from shore to shore. 
What though Priest, Kaiser, Sultan, King still sit 
Sceptred and crowned above the encroaching flood ? 
Belshazzar's legend over them is writ, 
And they grow pale before Man's altered mood. 
Voices of Revolution, trumpet-clear, 
Byron and Shelley, lo, your day is near ! 



PYGMALION. 

THE myth tells how the sculptor old 
* Ideal beauty sought, 
And, chiselling the marble cold, 

A radiant image wrought : 
How, when the work consummate stood, 

In all its carven charms, 



1 62 Pygmalion. 

He loved it, and his statue wooed 
With fondly clasping arms. 

Love's goddess saw his passion warm, 

And, by her special grace, 
Enkindled was the sculptured form 

To life in his embrace : 
The stony cheeks with blushes burned, 

The lips gave back his kiss ; 
The marble maid to flesh was turned, 

And felt a mutual bliss. 

Thus Genius, spurred by strong desire, 

Creative might can wield ; 
Make e'en insensate rock respire, 

And stubborn Nature yield. 
What though the thought with which it glows 

Awakes the dull crowd's scorn ? 
No chill of doubt its clear faith knows, 

Of quenchless ardor born. 

A living thing at last behold 

The dream it cherished long ; 
A might that can the world re-mould, 

And hush the jeering throng. 
The Amathusian legend hoar 

Was thus no fable vain, 
But pregnant with a precious lore 

For glowing heart and brain. 



Tedium Vita. 163 



TEDIUM YITM. 

"The thing that has been, it is that which shall be ; and 
that which is done is that which shall be done ; and there is 
no new thing under the sun." — Ecclesiastes. 

ON earth's surface, Mother Nature, 
We have dwelt for many a year, 
Weary of thy repetitions, 
Yearn we for another sphere. 
Travelling same unvarying circuit, 
Blooming only to decay, 
Constantly thyself renewing, 
Tir'st thou guests too long who stay. 

Come and go thy wonted seasons 
In a swift-revolving round. 
Death and birth and light and darkness 
Alternating still are found. 
Leafage of the jocund springtime 
Autumn quickly turneth sere, 
Fruitage of the tawny summer 
Tides us over winter drear. 

What is all this iteration 
But a tale told o'er and o'er ? 
Still it ends in dull renewal 
Of the same things evermore. 



1 64 The Palm and the Pine. 

Blue sky, stars, and far-off mountains 
Grand emotions in us stir ; 
But, to humble us, low instincts 
And low daily wants recur. 

What if after many aeons 
Readiest thou a higher plane ? 
We shall, then, unsightly fossils 
In some dark crypt long have lain. 
Say, beyond the grave's dim portal 
Us does higher life await ? 
To a changeless, grand hereafter, 
Art thou vestibule and gate ? 

Useless 't is for us, mute Mother, 
Thee to question or arraign : 
Busy with thy countless functions, 
Thou wilt answer never deign. 
Inn for fleeting generations 
Rolleth earth about the sun : 
Never-ending, still-beginning, 
'T is a race that ne'er is run. 



THE PALM AND THE PINE. 

Palm— 
My shaftlike stem uplifts its foliage high, 

Pine— 
My leaves are lyres, that in the noontide sigk 



The Palm and the Pine. 165 

Palm— 
I waved of old, where primal cities sprung, 

Pine — 
I first of trees the sea spray from me flung. 

Palm— 
The desert lion oft beneath me roars, 

Pine— 
O'er bear and moose my trunk columnar soars. 

Palm— 
The Southern Cross high over palm-land gleams, 

Pine— 
The North's aurora weird above me streams. 

Palm- 
In solitary state I love to grow, 

Pine — 
In forests vast, I noonday twilight throw. 

Palm— 
O'er lonely desert wells I sentry stand, 

Pine- 
Blue lakes and rivers vein my fatherland. 

Palm— 
My shadow over weary wastes is cast, 

Pine — 
My terebinthine green no cold can blast. 

Palm— 
A stately landmark firm, unmoved I stand, 

Pine— 
A sail-clad mast, I 'm blown from strand to strand. 

Palm- 
Unnumbered uses 'neath my beauty hide, 

Pine- 
Adventurous through storm and shine I glide. 



1 66 To the Moon. 

Palm— 
I over Nile and warbling Memnon grew, 

Pine- 
Spiring aloft I sing in ether blue. 

Palm— 
Your Northmen sought of old my softer zone, 

Pine- 
Its airs astray oft make my leafage moan. 

Palm— 
I dream of thee 'mid splendors of the line, 

Pine— 
And I for thee on northern mountains pine. 



TO THE MOON. 

The moon seems to be already thoroughly refrigerated. 

John Fiske. 

CRET of life, they say is o'er 
* On thy lone and frozen shore. 
Zephyrs there no longer blow, 
Rivers long have ceased to flow ; 
All thine ocean-beaches are 
Surfless, soundless, gaunt, and bare , 
Through thy clods have ceased to beat 
Pulses of the vernal heat ; 
Sterile sameness chill and drear 
Rolls around thy fruitless year ; 
Summer, Spring, and Autumn flown 
Winter leave to reign alone. 



To the Moon. ^7 

Spent volcanoes, yawning vast, 
Tell of dire convulsions past ; 
Entrails fused and boiling o'er, 
Mining all thy fiery core ; 
Robbing thee of central glow 
Till nor blade nor leaf can grow 
Vesting with its green the sere, 
Abysmal horrors of thy sphere, 
Where the eye surveys aghast 
Nought but scoriae, stricken waste, 
Waveless beds of vanished seas 
Left forlorn of storm and breeze ; 
Cataracts without a sound 
Plunging into gulfs profound, 
O'er whose dizzy edge no more 
Rainbows shine nor torrents roar ; 
Caverns scooped to central gloom, 
Vaults Plutonian, pits of doom. 

Vestal Queen wert thou of old — 
Quivered huntress chaste and cold, 
Wearing on thy forehead bright 
Crescent-curve of dewy light, 
Haunting still the forest wild, 
Still by passion unbeguiled. 
Antlered stags before thee sprung, 
Glade and thicket blithely rung. 
Many-shrined and many-named 
Thee the tribes of yore acclaimed, 
When with plenilunar sheen, 
Kindling Asian skies serene, 



168 Aromas. 

Whence thou didst with joy behold 
Ephesos in incense rolled, 
Fuming from thy fane of gold. 

Shrineless, prayerless, roll'st thou now, 
Hear'st no virgin's murmured vow ; 
Clamors wild from barbarous lips, 
When thine orb its splendor dips 
In the twilight of eclipse. 
In the earth's vast shadow hung 
Like a lantern thou art swung, 
While through interstellar air 
Glideth she, a sky-ship fair, 
Voyaging in elliptic gyre 
Round the Sun's imperial fire ! 



AROMAS. 



THE TORCHBEARERS. 



I SEE them stand anear, afar, 
* Lone-shining through the backward years. 
Long interspace 'twixt star and star 
Down wastes of vanished time appears. 

For, even in history's blackest night, 
Some martyr torch of reason bore ; 

And, ere he fell, its sacred light 

To younger son of truth passed o'er. 



Aromas. 169 



VIRGIN SOIL. 

Stateless and churchless your acreage lone 

Ne'er was crimsoned with blood for a mitre or 

throne, 
Nor are ruinous columns over you strown. 
More fair for their absence, your verdurous waste 
With prairie flowers sweet and long grass is graced, 
Where states of the future free, chainless, may rise, 
O'erarched by the blue of fathomless skies. 

in. 

SLEEP. 

Sweet sleep is strenuous struggle's meed. 
No downy plumage will it win 
For Sybarite immersed in sin. 
Such dainty lure 't will never heed, 
But quickly hies the boon to bless 
The couch of honest weariness. 



IV. 

life's board. 

The viands on life's table are 
Not meant for a perpetual fare : 
After a time they lose their zest, 
The board belongs to later guest. 



170 To Byron and Al fieri. 



TO BYRON AND ALFIERI. 

iyi ATCHED with the dainty Sybarites of song, 

* * * Who now strum idle lays, having their brows 

With lotas-fillets bound, O virile Souls ! 

Ye grandly loom athwart the lurid haze 

Of Revolution, from whose dugs ye drew 

The fiery milk of freedom. Italia, 

In her recovered unity, grateful 

Enwreathes your marble efhgies with bays 

Perennially green. Ye sang her as 

No other bards had sung, the light of all 

Her ages flashing full upon your souls. 



Enfranchised Hellas, too, 
Brings wreaths of immemorial laurel 
From Dorian gorges, where it first upsprung, 
To shade your marble temples with their bloom. 



HANNIBAL. 

/^VNCE Afric was avenged; her Punic chief 
^-^ Brought haughty Europe to her knees of yore, 
Till, surfeited with victory, he forbore 
To bring her proudest state to final grief, 
And seat of empire change to Libya's shore. 



To Emilio Castelar. 1 7 1 

He was the subtlest strategist that e'er 
Steep'd battle-stricken earth in foeman's gore; 
Fertile in wiles, though keen his sword and spear, 
His intellect was keener far, as dull Rome knew 
Bending in anguish o'er her noblest slain, 
Caught in the net of Carthaginian brain. 
Would he had crushed her, ere to might she grew ! 
Clearer would history's turbid stream have run, 
If prompt as puissant had been Hamilcar's son. 



TO EMILIO CASTELAR. 

TBERIAN Land, entrenched behind 

*■ Thy ridges Pyrenean, 

One son thou hast whose pen can bring 

Fire from the Empyrean ! 
From thy swart, olive-cinctured loins 

He burst to gild decadence ; 
Not since Cervantes has there flashed 

From thee such genial radiance. 

But scarce to her this star belongs, 

Old Spain, the semi-savage ; 
He chooses exile, even now, 

To shun guerilla ravage 
And advent of the puny king, 

Son of a Messalina, 
'Neath whom his land once more becomes 

The bigot's dull aren? 



172 To Emilio Castelar. 

Son of the fierce and fickle South, 

Who at the cloudy portals 
Of German thought dost stand to make 

It clear to wildered mortals, — 
Hyperion-like dispersest thou 

The mists and vapors folding 
Its far and icy peaks, adown 

Whose sides glad streams are rolling 

To make a brighter flora spring, 

Where'er their moisture sallies, 
And call a fresher verdure forth 

From all the plains and valleys. 
Thy genius is a complex of 

Levantine fire and splendor, 
Irradiating thought profound 

From Deutschland dark and tender. 



It gleams with light of Grecian seas, 

Where isles of Summer blossom; 
'T is dark with Baltic's swell, which rolls 

The amber from its bosom ; 
All times and climes to thee are known, 

Their glory and their shadow, — 
Thou dashest o'er thy magic page 

The tints of Eldorado ! 



Ultima Aitas. i 73 



ULTIMA ^ETAS. 



RENEWED, at length, the whole round earth 
Shall bear a fairer fauna, 
And perfect races, larger browed, 

Shall with their works adorn her ! 
Building no more the bigot's shrine, 

And piles ecclesiastic, 
But Academes where Truth can show, 
Unveiled, her face majestic ! 

To young and old, to man and maid, 

To all the happy people 
Grovelling no more in homage to 

The Cross and Parish steeple ; 
Then shall begin the order New, 

Unfolding grander ages, 
Needing no more historic pens, 

But only Bards and Sages, — 

Hierophants of Truth to lead 

To vistas, brighter, greener, 
Wherein the nations unified 

Shall breathe a breath serener ; 
And roaming through the fields of air 

Have wider scope and margin, 
Not tenants of a few trite spots, 

But all their bounds enlarging, 



1/4 Occa?i. 

Cosmopolites of Earth and Sky, 

Through morn and sunset sailing, 
O'erlooking continents and isles, 

While heights ethereal scaling. 
Then, old strait-lacings of the past 

Shall all be burst and riven, 
And creeds and dogmas to the winds 

Like threshed-out chaff be given ! 

Then, Love shall be celestial fire, 

Not merely pottage boiling, 
Its torch to kindle at the beck 

Of Church and State recoiling ; 
But lambent lightning of the heart, 

Round youth and beauty playing, 
The Satyr's hoof no more amid 

Its fruits and blossoms straying. 
The hymn of Love shall be upraised 

Beneath the lamp of Hesper, 
And youths and virgins purer vows 

In softer moonlight whisper J 



OCEAN. 



A RENA of the winds it to and fro 
**■ Ripples or rages at their fitful breath — 
O'er its wild acreage the tempests mow 

Harvests of devastation, wreck, and death ; 



Ocean. 175 

Yet noblest races ever felt the air 

Of ocean lure them with a mystic spell — 

Far, fortunate, fabled isles could make them dare 
To launch adventurous on its briny swell. 

Lone-musing on its strand in summer days, 

Far off the spectral sails of voyagers old, 
Dim-gliding, 'mid the horizon's magic haze, 

We seem with fancy's vision to behold. 
The great old marts of traffic, Corinth, Tyre, 

Miletos, Carthage, Gades, Venice, seem 
With galleons and galleys thronged in fire 

Of oceanic sunset red to gleam. 

Desert of storm and shine, of water, air, 

Welters the ocean-world from zone to zone — 
Flashes its surf on tropic islands fair, 

Girdles with mystery arctic regions lone. 
Not all man's argosies, that plough its brine 

In current years, sail-clad or vapor-driven, 
With keels innumerable from pole to line 

Him empire o'er its tameless waves have given. 

Earth like a mother spreads her bosom green, 

Foodful, flower-spangled, firm beneath his tread, 
Grows through his culturing hand a blissful scene, 

And in her embrace softly folds his dead. 
But ocean keeps no trace of oar or sail. 

Between him and its sunless gulfs man feels 
His stanchest ribs of oak are vain and frail, 

Uncertain of their ports his fleetest keels. 



176 Ocean. 

Remorseless depths unfathomed, restless might, 

Which saps e'en continents by slow degrees, 
Make sense of awe and peril chase delight, 

So swift to tempest swells the ocean's breeze. 
Like some vast beast it bellows on its strand, 

Breathing in moaning respirations deep, 
Its misty distances in circles grand 

'Twixt ever new horizons spread and sweep. 

The ocean valley is the cistern vast, 

Wherein all rivers, streams, and streamlets 
flow — 
They from their mountain watersheds make haste, 

Their tribute in his briny fisc to throw. 
His boiling wells of tepid water bear 

Fertility to many a northern strand ; 
His saline vapors freshen earth and air ; 

His wave-cooled winds are welcome to the land. 

The sun his moisture weaves in airy loom 

High over upland, meadow, valley, plain ; 
The vernal shower, that makes earth's verdure 
bloom, 

He sends, father of cloud and dew and rain. 
His billows trained to freedom men of old, 

The merchant-commonwealths of Hellas fair ; 
Where'er his midland sea its surges rolled 

Dauntless autonomy was in the air. 

The realm of movement, ocean's winds and waves, 

Made races migrant in the foretime dim : 
12 



Sleep. 177 

Leaving behind ancestral fields and graves, 

To fairer coasts in triremes stanch they swim. 
To Homer ocean was a mighty stream, 

A vast, deep-running river girdling earth, 
Whence rising sun, stars flashed with brighter 

beam, 
Whose ambient slime to men and things gave 
birth. 

SCIENTIFIC TRUTH. 

T^HE scriptures of eternal space, 
*■ Grown legible unto our race, 
Have made the sacred canon vain — 
We need not turn its leaves again. 



SLEEP. 



T TPON the night-side of the planet, Sleep, 

^ With poppied wand, o'erpowers the weary 

race, 
Strows them in mimic death o'er half earth's face. 
Helpless and purposeless supine they lie, 
With features steeped in slumber's idiocy ; 
Then yawn the cosmic spaces starred, profound ; 
In their sidereal depths there is no sound ; 
Eternal night in awful, mystic gleams, 
From countless stars and constellations streams. 
The awed earth slowly rolls, with noiseless gyre, 
Seas, lands, again into auroral fire, 
Rousing to upright attitude of life 
The tribes of men to wage their petty strife. 



1 78 Dczdalns* 



D^DALUS. 

"T^ WAS arrogance deemed of old for mechanist 

* Nature to supple to the use of man, 
Copying the skill of mathematic bee, 
Hydraulic beaver, and the weaving-birds ; 
Fire was a theft from jealous deity ; 
Its utilizer suffered martyrdom 
Nailed to a mountain crag. Art was malign 
And impious, and old religion placed 
Beneath its ban Cainite and D^edalid. 
At length the theologic curse is spurned, 
And man, the artist and contriver, wields 
The cosmic forces to the noblest ends. 
There yet will be a Daedalus whose skill 
Will make the empty air a thoroughfare. 
Mechanic genius served perforce of old 
The sullen despot, wrought his enginery 
Of torture, bulls of bronze, his labyrinths, 
Whose clueless mazes were the baffling lairs 
Of bestial lust, demoniac cruelty. 
When Archimedes planned, war was the trade 
Of human kind. Now peace is paramount, 
And the inventor serves the general weal. 



Eugenie, 1 79 



EUGENIE* 



'"THOU hast been long discrowned, but sadder far 
The charm of other days, which was thine 
own, 
And scarcely borrowed lustre from the throne 
It won thee, leaves thee now a fallen star 
In rayless, dull eclipse, dejected, lone. 
If beauty's sceptre in thy grasp had staid, 
And still thy form, as erst, was lithe and fair, 
As huntress Dian's carved in Parian stone, 
Thy lot would not be dark with flat despair. 
Bends not from heaven the stainless Mother-Maid 
Unto her sad Iberian votary's moan ? 
Alas, you found her but a thing of air, 
A doleful phantom, powerless to stay 
The stroke of doom which left thee fallen, gray. 



11. 



But now than ravished sceptre, diadem, 
And withered loveliness, a loss more deep 
Doth from thy widowed arms forever sweep 
The flower of the Napoleonic stem, 



* The above poem was written at the time of the death in 
Zululand of the son of Napoleon Third and Eugenie. 



180 " Monstrari Digito." 



Its sole and latest hope, thine only born. 

O crownless mother, dolorous, forlorn ! 

When at the summit of imperial pride, 

With dew of youth, like matin star you shone, 

E'en on that morn, when cannons' roar made known 

Your pangs were ended, and your Caesar's throne 

By advent of a man-child fortified — 

You deemed not then 't were better to have died. 

How could you see far-off this fatal hour, 

When desolation is your only dower ? 



"MONSTRARI DIGITO." 

C 'EN Horace once unknown and poor 
*— ' Drew not the public eye ; 
Of vision dim and stature short 

Unmarked men passed him by. 
Indignant oft he owns himself, 

By tooth of envy gnawed, 
To see and hear a stupid world 

Its favorites applaud. 
Immortal genius glowed within 

His minimum of clay, 
Through all obstructions bursting forth 

It brightened into day. 
The farmer of the Sabine hills, 

Descending from his home, 
Beheld himself the focus of 

The eyes of mighty Rome. 
The pointed finger plainly said : 

'" Behold the bard you seek ! 



Monstrari Dirito." 181 



•s 



The Roman lyre he striketh as 
Alcseus struck the Greek." 

" A little man — a freedman's son " — 

" E'en so, but that is naught, 
Divus Augustus nods to him, 

The Seeker, not the Sought ! 
The lord of legions knows the lyre 

Of genius rings afar 
Through space and time, e'en Caesar's fame 

Potent to make or mar ! " 

Thus from his shell the poet burst, 

Full-fledged with pinion strong ; 
Proudly he flew an eagle's flight 

Master of Roman Song, 
Emerged to light he revelled in 

The unbounded air and sun ; 
Perennius cere — sure enough 

The mighty name he won. 
The flight of ages, countless years 

His genius has defied. 
E'en his large boast was less than truth, — 

He has not wholly died. 
Fame is the spur of noble minds, 

The noblest of them said, 
A weakness sure to toil to live 

In others' breath when dead : 
When into fiery mist again 

All life and thought shall pass, 
For earth's illustrious there will be 

An amnesty en masse. 



1 82 To Dellius. 

Oblivion then will glut her maw 
With oldest, brightest fames ; 

For want of memory will be forgot 
E'en Homer's, Shakespeare's names ! 



TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE. 



TO DELLIUS. 
[Book II., Ode 3.| 

I. 
O INCE to death your nature dooms you, 
^ You will calmly face your lot — 
Triumph will not o'er-elate you, 

Hard disaster scare you not. 
Naught is lasting, joy nor sorrow — 

All our mortal moods soon end ; 
Thus a level head and spirit 

Best befit us, O my friend. 

11. 
Whether you your life in sadness 

Shall have passed, it matters not, 
Or with old Falernian mellow 

Revelled in some grassy spot. 
Death to mourner and to feaster 

Comes alike to close the scene. 
Equal to whate'er betides us 

Let us live with souls serene. 



To Dellius. 183 

in. 

Where the stately pine and poplar 

Love to weave a social shade, 
And by brook obliquely running 

Murmurous melody is made, 
Bid your servitors bring thither, 

Where in shadow you repose, 
Wine and unguents and sweet blossoms 

Of the too brief-blooming rose. 



IV. 

Bid them hasten, ere the Sisters 

Dusky threads of fate have spun. 
While your age knows naught of waning 

And rejoices you the sun. 
Lordly mansions, woods, and pastures 

You will surely leave behind, 
And your hoarded wealth new owner 

At your exit instant find. 

v. 

Matters not our grade, possessions, 

Lowly born or long-descended — 
We are victims all of Orcus 

When the light of life is ended. 
To eternal exile going 

Down the same dark route all fare — 
O'er the dim Styx ferried all are 

Undistinguished shadows there. 



184 To Lucius Sextus. 



TO LUCIUS SEXTUS. 
[Book I., Ode 4.] 

TV A ELTS the harsh, chill winter feeling, 
* " * Sweet vicissitude of spring ; 
'Neath the west wind softly breathing, 

Golden wheat is blossoming. 
Shoreward drags his keel the sailor, 

Flocks in stalls no more delight, 
Quits his fireside now the ploughman, 

Meads with frost no more are white. 

'Neath the overhanging moon now 

Venus leads her dancing train ; 
Hand in hand with nymphs the Graces 

Tread their mazy round again, 
Glowing Vulcan lights his forges, 

Wreath of myrtle wears each brow, 
In the groves to jolly Faunus, 

Lamb or kid is offered now. 

Pallid Death with foot impartial 

Knocks alike at palace, cot ; 
Life's brief span vain expectations 

Clearly bids us cherish not. 
Soon the night will gather round you, 

Where the fabled Manes be — 



To Melpomene. 185 

Soon the shadowy house of Pluto 
'Mong its shadows number thee. 

There such wine as here you 're quaffing 
Shall your spectral lips not know ; 

There with sweet desire you ne'er shall 
As in upper daylight glow. 



TO MELPOMENE. 

\\ 7HOM, Melpomene, thou heedest 
* » At his birth with looks benign, 
At heroic games he will not 
By his feats of prowess shine. 

Chariot race nor martial triumph 
Him a victor shall display, 

Wearing proudly wreath of conquest, 
Leafage of Apollo's bay. 

But thick-foliaged grove and river, 
Which in quiet flows along, 

Him with sweetest inspiration 
Famed shall make in lyric song. 

Now that Rome, the queen of cities, 

Owneth me a poet, too, 
Wounds me less the tooth of envy, 

Than erewhile 't was wont to do. 



1 86 To Torqiiatus. 

Muse, the dulcet din, who swayest 
Of the golden lyric shell, 

Who canst make mute fishes warble 
Sweet as dying swan's farewell. 

'T is your doing that the fingers 
Of all passers point to me, 

Plainly saying by the gesture, 

" There, Rome's lyric singer, see ! 



TO TORQUATUS. 
[Book IV., Ode 7.3 

l\j OT to expect a lot immortal here 
* Warn thee the changing year 
And fleeting hour, which swiftly bear away 
The bright and genial day. 

The frosts dissolve beneath 

The west wind's vernal breath ; 

On spring the impatient summer treads, 

Herself to fade when fall its fruitage sheds ; 

Anon dull winter numbs the hand of toil, 

And locks in iron sleep the stricken soil ; 

But nature's hurts swift moons will quick repair, 

With bloom and brightness gladden earth and air ; 

But we, when we have made the dark descent 

To realms below, 

Where, long ago, 



An Imitation of Alcceus. 187 

^Eneas, Ancus and rich Tullus went, 

Are dust in the funereal urn, 

Shadows which never more to light return. 

Who hath such knowledge he can surely say 
The gods will add another morrow to to-day ? 
Be bounteous to thyself, nor spare 
To fill the greedy hands of eager heir ! 

When thou, Torquatus, art no more, 

And Minos to thy shade 

His clear, impartial sentence shall have made, 

Nor birth, nor eloquence can thee restore, 

Nor loyalty unto the gods above. 

From gloom of Hades even Dian's love 
Her chaste Hippolytus could not recall ; 
Nor could the might of Theseus disenthral, 
From his Lethaean bondage drear 
Pirithous dear. 



[Book I., Ode 9.] 
(AN IMITATION OF ALCiEUS.). 

SEEST thou yon snow-heaped mountain whitely 
gleaming, 
And woods that vainly strive their burden to up- 
hold, 
And silent rivers that, no longer streaming, 
Stand motionless, transfixed with keenest cold ? 
Now let the genial hearth with piled wood glowing 



1 88 Epistolce. 

Dissolve the frost and shed a cheerful gleam, 
And from its two-eared Sabine jar a-flowing 
Let generous wine of four years' ripeness stream, 
No watered draught, but such as seasoned heads 

esteem. 
Thus armed with cheer, both cold and gloom dis- 
pelling, 
Leave, Thaliarchus, to the gods the rest ; 
For they, the war of winds and ocean quelling, 
Hush, too, the ash-tree on the mountain's crest. 

Into the morrow's chance be thou ne'er prying ; 
Score every day which fate may give as gain ; 
And while, far off, hoar Age morose is lying, 
Let not thy youth the joys of love disdain. 

When park and walk the twilight shades are hiding, 
And all around are heard love's whispers low, 
And ambushed maiden's laugh your step is guiding, 
Wouldst thou the sweet hour's secret bliss forego ? 



[Epistolce, Book XI., 2.] 

F^vESPOIL us of our pleasures one by one 
*-^ The predatory years, freebooters sly ; 
They 've ta'en desire, goodfellowship and fun, 
And now they seek to wrest my poesy. 

Deem'st thou at Rome the muses can be wooed 
'Mid myriad distractions, uproar loud ? 



Epistolce. 189 

Ah, yes ! its streets for meditative mood 
Are nicely fitted with their surging crowd ! 

Here hot with haste a master-builder hies, 
With mules and porters following at his heels ; 

There groans a derrick hoisting to the skies 
Huge stones and beams ; here, blocked by 
ponderous wheels 

A funeral struggles, hindered on its way ; 

Here runs a mad dog ; there a noisome swine ; 
Here 's inspiration, bard, methinks you say ; 

Now meditate your long resounding line. 

Lone woods the poets haunt, but cities shun ; 

Their patron Bacchus loveth sleep and shade ; 
Think'st thou the goal, which mighty bards have 
won, 

My steps can reach 'mid uproar ne'er allayed ? 

Even in Athens' streets, where leisure reigns, 
The absent, learned recluse a laugh doth raise, 

As plods he with his overladen brains 

More mute than statue o'er her famous ways. 

What figure, say, would musing genius make 
Amid the human surges roaring here ? 

In such environment, what bard could wake 
With fitting words the lyre to music clear? 



190 Horace Invites Mcecenas. 



HORACE INVITES M^CENAS TO SPEND THE 
HEATED TERM WITH HIM. 



OCION of Etruria's monarchs, 
^ In a cask, untilted still, 
Mellow wine I 've long been keeping 

In reserve for thee to spill ; 
For thy locks, a wreath of roses 

And Sabsean perfume rare. 
Snatch thyself from each engagement, 

And to Tivoli repair. 

Ceaseless plenty makes one dainty ; 

Leave your luxury for a while, 
And your villa, that is neighbor 

To the clouds, aspiring pile. 
Let not Rome, its din and splendor, 

Constantly your heart beguile. 
To the wealthy, change is tonic, 

Though they bask in Fortune's smile. 



'Neath a lowly roof, full often 

Hath a poor man's healthful fare, 

Without couches, gorgeous hangings, 
Smoothed the wrinkled front of Care. 



Horace Invites Mcecenas. 191 

Hid no longer, now arises 

Starred Andromeda's bright Sire ; 
Flameth Procyon, fierce forerunner 

Of the Dogstar's baleful fire ; 
Drives his panting flock the shepherd, 

Weary with the noontide heat, 
Where the thickets of the Wood-god 

Weave a shadowy, green retreat ; 
O'er the river's silent margin 

Strays no breeze with whispers sweet. 



Cares of state meantime annoy thee, 

On the city's weal intent. 
Fearest thou what plots may menace 

In the far-off Orient ? 
O'er events still in the future 

Wisely God a veil doth draw ; 
Smiles he, when o'er-anxious mortal 

Would transcend his being's law. 



This remember : present moment 

Manage duly, use aright. 
O'er the future thou art powerless ; 

It to mould exceeds thy might. 
Now like river in its channel 

Flowing calm to ocean wide, 
Thus the current of events will 

Sometimes smoothly, gently glide ; 



192 Horace Invites Maecenas. 

But, anon, its angry waters, 

Freshet-swollen, madly pour, 
Bearing ruin, desolation, 

Banks and barriers running o'er. 
Houses, cattle, trees uprooted, 

In a mass it whirls along, 
Woods and mountains loud re-echo 

Roaring of its torrent strong. 

Master of himself and happy 

He will be whoe'er can say, 
As the shades of evening glimmer, 

/ have truly lived to-day. 
Jove can make to-morrow's heaven 

Dark with clouds or bright with sun ; 
Gladness of a day that 's vanished 

Cannot be reversed, undone. 

In her cruel game exulting, 

Fortune playeth still her wiles ; 

Still her honors keeps transferring, — 
Now on me, on thee she smiles. 

While she tarries, I applaud her ; 

Plumeth she her wings for flight, 
In my virtue as a mantle 

Wrapt I her caprices slight. 
I resign what she hath given, 

Dowerless maiden turn to woo, — 
Poverty, unlike to Fortune, 

Always honest, modest, true. 



To the Roman People. 193 

Groans the mast 'ntath storm-wind's scourges, 

Needful 't is not then for me 
Humble vows and prayers to utter, 

Lest ray rich stuffs strew the sea. 
In my skiff, two-oared, then safely 

Through the ^Egean's roar I sail, 
On to port the bright Twins waft me, 

Speeding me with favoring gale. 



TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.* 
[Epode 16.] 



WASTES itself in cruel slaughter, 
Now another age away — 
Self-destroyed, to final ruin 

Rome is rushing day by day. 
Rome, that by no foreign foemen 

Conquered hath been hitherto, 
Whom nor Gaul, nor blue-eyed Teuton, 

Nor yet Carthage could subdue. 
Whom nor Spartacus, the fierce serf, 

Nor proud Porsena o'erthrew, 



* After nearly sixty years of ceaseless civil war, extending 
from the time of Marius and Sylla to that of Mark Antony, 
the poet Horace, in the following epode, despairing of a return 
of peace to his distracted country, recommends the best part 
of his fellow-citizens to migrate en masse from Italy to the 
Fortunate Islands, in the then unexplored Atlantic Ocean. 
13 



194 To the Roman People. 

We, an impious generation, 

In her blood our hands imbrue, 
Until Nature with her wild beasts 

Here her empire shall renew, 
And o'er ashes of the city 

Barbarous cavaliers shall ride, 
Trample with victorious hoof-dints 

All its area far and wide ; 
Bones of Romulus uncover, 

Hid from sun and wind, to sight, 
And the sacred relics scatter 

Right and left with fell despite. 



[i. 



How such direful consummation 

To avert you seek to know, 
You, whose patriot hearts are aching, 

Saddened by your country's woe ? 
Let this be your resolution — 

None is better — hence to go 
Wheresoever o'er the billows 

You the Siroc's breath shall blow. 
As Phocsea's people flying, 

Fields and hearth-gods left behind, 
And their fanes to wolves and wild boars 

With a fierce resolve resigned. 
Pleaseth you the stern example ? 

Whose advice will more avail ? 
Why not then take ship and instant 

With auspicious omen sail ? 



To the Roman People. 195 

in. 

When from sea's dim bottom lifted 

We these stones afloat discern, 
(Thus we swear), it shall be lawful 

Back from exile to return ; 
When Calabria's mountain summits 

Waters of the Po shall lave, 
Then we shall repent not sailing 

Homeward bound across the wave ; 
When high Apennine a-stooping 

Bows its crest into the sea, 
And by passion strange united 

Alien natures mingled be ; 
When with lust unnatural burning 

Tigress antlered stag shall woo, 
And the ringdove strangely mated 

With the kite shall bill and coo ; 
When the grazing herds shall fearless 

Hear the tawny lion's roar, 
When of briny-deep enamored 

Hegoat swimming leaves the shore, 
Then return we — not before. 

IV. 

When with solemn imprecations 

We our purpose have defined, 
Let us, choicest of the city, 

Leave the rabble dull behind ; 
Leave the undaring and despondent 

In these homes accursed to dwell, 



196 To the Roman People. 

While we woo the sultry Siroc 
Canvas of our bark to swell. 

Let no weak, unmanly wailing 
Mark your exit, O ye brave, 

As adieu to country bidding 
Fly we o'er the Tyrrhene wave. 



Us the ocean vast awaiteth, 

With its earth-encircling brine, 
And rich isles and happy fallows, 

O'er which suns of summer shine. 
Earth unploughed there yields its harvests, 

And unpruned blooms the vine ; 
There the olive never faileth, — 

Purple figs their own trees grace. 
From its watershed the streamlet 

Downward leaps with murmurous pace, — 
Shegoats come to pail unbidden, 

Homeward herds with full dugs toil ; 
Bears at eve the sheepfolds fright not — 

Hides no snake the kindly soil. 

***** 

Famous Argo sailed not hither, 

Ne'er those shores Medea knew ; — 
Never reached them Tyrian sailor, 

Nor Ulysses' toil-worn crew. 
In the ocean's bright seclusion 

Jove apart these islands set 
For a people brave and noble, 

Golden Age there lingers yet, 



Sights and Sounds. 197 

Set apart these blissful regions, 

Where their shores no voyagers hailed, 
While the Age of Bronze and Iron 

Over other lands prevailed. 
There unbroken peace awaits us 

In that happy, bright retreat ; 
There the fields fecund will empty 

Horn of plenty at our feet — 
I divinely missioned lead you 

To that refuge far away, 
Where your ears will ring no longer 

With the din of civil fray. 



HORACE'S LIFE AT ROME. 

MAECENAS' friend, amid Rome's roar he led 
A harassed life, from morn till eve beset ; 
Where'er the little bard might show his head, 
Still was he importuned by all he met. 

En route unto the Esquiline the crowd 

In envious mood would block the favorite's way, 

For news and favors all would clamor loud, 
And bid him secrets of the gods betray. 



SIGHTS AND SOUNDS. 

C LUDING bores and leeches, all alone 

*-' Through the great city loved he well to stroll — 

Amid its motley spectacles unknown, 

With amplest food for thought he stored his soul. 



198 The Burden of Her Songs. 

To forum, Circus, sharper's haunts, he went, 
Where rendezvous at eve the Orient's scum ; 

Gravely to fortune-teller's ear he lent, 
Amid the rabble's many-languaged hum. 

Girls from the land of soft Adonis plied, 
With lutes lascivious, the saunterers there ; 

Sweeping their chords oblique they sweetly sighed 
The amorous ditties of their native air. 



THE HORATIAN MUSE. 

HIS blushless Muse with pagan freedom sung 
Of carnal pleasure, mincing not her phrase ; 
No prudery then checked the poet's tongue, 
Or chilled to dull propriety his lays ; 

But Horace least of all Rome's lyric choir, 
In obscene, fleshly utterance delighted ; 

Blunt as Walt Whitman, here and there his lyre 
Sounds forth a phrase his editors have slighted. 

Born in an age of militancy stern, 

Of civic strife and carnage without measure, 
Loathing, impatient did his sweet Muse turn 

From war with visage grim to rustic pleasure. 



THE BURDEN OF HER SONGS. 

GLAD youthtime, would she sing, with beauty 
flies- 
Love sapless age's hoariness disdains ; 



The Ethics of Horace. 199 

Blest he who 'neath the pine or plane tree lies, 
And tempered cups of bright Falernian drains ; 

Whose locks with rose and nard are fragrant still, 

When time their tarnished gloss with silver 
sprinkles ; 
For whom some girl in Spartan dishabille 

Beneath the shade her ivory cithern tinkles. 
The passing hour enjoy, for you are fated — 

Soon must you leave home, pleasant wife, be- 
hind ; 
Of all the trees you plant, the cypress hated 

The passer faithful to your dust will find. 

Your costliest vintages, close-locked, your heir 
Will shortly to his comrades young be filling ; 

Wine rich as that at pontiffs' banquets rare 
Upon your marble floor's mosaic spilling. 



THE ETHICS OF HORACE. 



DEYOND life's pleasant bounds his eyes could 
*-* see 

Naught but eternal night and shadows drear, 
Warning him, ere himself a shade should be, 
To take his fill of love and festal cheer. 



In many a kindred spirit of to-day 

His genial, jovial ethics still are cherished ; 



200 Horace and Augustus. 

And thus it is his seeming idle lay 

Survives when all he sung has perished. 

The farthest future through his verse will see 
That Roman life he lived with sunny clearness ; 

The men and things he sung will ever be 
Invested with cotemporary nearness. 



HIS FATHER. 

A FREEDMAN'S son, he proudly owned his 
** sire, 

His servile pedigree to hide disdaining ; 
Comrade of princes, master of the lyre, 

His father's worth still in his heart retaining. 

Unto that sire the filial minstrel owed 

In schools of learned Athenae amplest leisure, 

The Attic salt which sparkles in each ode, 
The mastery of every lyric measure. 



HORACE AND AUGUSTUS. 

T T IS chubby person made him Caesar's jest, 
* * Yet in his raillery there lurked no sting 
Venusia's singing-bird he loved the best, 
Though epic Virgil spread a broader wing. 



Alca?us and Sappho. 201 



HORACE AND THE RINGDOVES. 

WELL might the Muses shield him from the 
foe— 
To lyric fame e'en from his cradle fated — 
For when a sleeping child, about his brow, 
The legend ran, a garland ringdoves plaited. 



PHILIPPI. 

T_T AD the old order at Philippi won, 

* 1 And victory's palms o'ershaded there his 

brow, 
He would have never known the empire's sun 
Which nursed his genius till it warms us now, 

Stanching at last the flow of civic blood 
Which for a gory century had streamed, 

What wonder that to him the sovereign good 

Peace, with her hours of golden leisure, seemed ! 



ALC^EUS AND SAPPHO. 

HTHANKS to his frankly borrowed numbers, still 

' Alcseus, Sappho, in his accents, sing ; 
Their own rich chords, alas ! no longer thrill, 
But only in melodious fragments ring. 



202 The Patron of Horace. 

Some sparkles of the Grecian lyrists' fire 

It was his boast and pride that he had caught ; 

Some accents sweet of each ^Egean lyre 
His fluent Muse to haughty Latium taught. 

Policeman of the world, the Roman yet 

Was to the Greek a child in thought and song ; 

Frankly he owned his intellectual debt, 
For all pretence too lordly and too strong. 



THE PATRON OF HORACE. 

A PERFUMED invalid, who gasped for breath, 
** Maecenas curbed the mob with master hand ; 
He poets, pleasure loved, and hated death, 

Spectre which o'er him life-long seemed to stand. 

The sound of falling water gave him sleep 

In momentary visitations brief ; 
At length insomnia his lids would keep 

Wide open, darkness bringing no relief. 

Vainly his cascades sang with lulling roar, 
And Tibur's air in healthful breezes blew ; 

So Caesar's vizier to the shades went o'er, 
And then his lord his wisest minister knew. 

Disconsolate, the bard he loved so well 
Followed apace, in death as life allied ; 

There where the Esquiline upheaved its swell, 
Poet and Patron slumbered side by side. 



The Roman Tavern Girl. 203 



THE ROMAN TAVERN GIRL. 

Copa Syrisca caput Graia redimita mitella 
Crispum sub crolalo docta mover e latus 
Ex . . . fumosa saltat lasciva laberna. 



Virgil. 



Patrician Youth. 



T T O ! my little Syrian gipsy, 
* *■ With thy wanton pirouettes 
And thy rattling castanets, 
Firing clowns and rustics tipsy ! 
Like to stars thy bright eyes gleam 
Through this low popina's steam, 
Which beguiles the enchanted sense 
Like clouds of Orient frankincense. 

Cease thy dance's dizzy whirl, 

Supple Orontean girl ; 

Come, with gems and gold-dust rare 

I will sow thy snooded hair ! 

***** 

Flute no more to boorish men, 

Carousing in this steaming den ; 

No auletris like to thee 

Graces Caesar's revelry : 

Let me press thy balmy mouth, 

Lithe enchantress from the South ! 

It smacks of nard and cassia sure. 

Thou a tavern lass to lure 



204 The Roman Tavern Girl. 

To smoky inns, where Satyrs swill 

From horny cups their drunken fill ! 

Shame ! thy sultry glances should 

Warm an Imperator's blood, 

And thy beauty be revealed 

In a palace golden-ceiled, 

'Mid daedal shapes of art divine, 

And gemmy goblets brimmed with wine. 

While silver cressets o'er thee shine. 

Thou shalt roam no more forlorn, 

Waif of beauty lowly born, 

From the fragrant lands of morn, 

Where Orontes' laurelled flood 

Glimmering runs through Daphne's wood. 

Cofta. 

Wilt bear me southward to my home — 
To mine own land, the bright, the fair ? 
No joy I know while here I roam — 
I languish for a softer air. 
Blue roll the waves on Syria's strand, 
And o'er it bends a starrier sky 
Than canopies this northern land, 
Where e'en in death I would not lie. 

The Syrian mountains far away 
With azure crests o'erbrow the seas, 
There giant cedars, old as they, 
Sigh softly on the summer breeze. 
O might these weary feet once more 
Those far-off ridges reach and tread ! 



Virgil. 205 

O might I see unclouded soar, 

My Syrian heaven above my head ! 

In this stern land I moan, I pine, 

Though wreathed with smiles my lips may be ; 

Astarte, crescent-horned, divine, 

O bear thy votaress o'er the sea ! 

Bear me to shades of southern bowers, 

That wave and rustle in thy gleam ; 

Bear me to where thy temple towers 

By far Orontes' holy stream ! 



VIRGIL. 



r* ENTLEST of ethnic souls the Mantuan yet 
^-* Hell organized for future bigots' use ; 
He sketched perdition's melancholy realm 
With an exactitude which Homer's muse 
Knew not. His Sixth Book he must still regret ; 
He with it zealots armed to overwhelm 
Mortals with imagery of endless doom. 
Impressed by lines the schoolboy aye should read — 
His wails of infants through the infernal gloom 
Were formulated into Calvin's creed. 
A topographic realism he first gave 
To Hell girdled with ninefold Stygian wave 
And fens and marshes drear, which many a weed 
Lethean in their sluggish ooze did breed. 

And yet Imagination never wrought 
To more august effect in twilight gloom 



2o6 Virgil. 

With pencil dipped, limning the place of doom, 
The empty halls of Dis, the realms inane 
Reechoing to the moans of hopeless pain, 
The mournful shadows, who for ferriage sought 
With stretched hands yearning for the farther strand 
Fluttering like birds, which seek a sunnier land, 
The Acherontian maelstrom's hungry roar, 
Casting up sand and mire for evermore ; 
The squalid ferryman still hale though hoar ; 
The hideous hell-dog with his threefold jaw 
Gobbling the sleepy sop into his maw : — 
These as if entities his fancy saw. 

Gladly the eye, escaped from Stygian gloom, 
The blissful greenness of Elysian bowers 
Beholds, rustling with fresh, immortal bloom ; 
A larger ether clothes the fields with light 
Purpureal. Blossom fairer flowers, 
Another sun and moon and stars more bright 
With purer beams the regions blest illume, 
Haunted by heroes born in better years ; 
There Ilus, there Assaracus appears. 
Their shadowy arms and chariots stand afar, 
Their loosened coursers graze the immortal meads, 
Their love for shield and spear 'neath daylight's 

star 
They bear below, and for the glossy steeds, 
Which hale o'er shadowy course the shadowy car. 

Sweet is that vale retired umbered with gloom 
Of rustling boughs, whence Lethe's river rolls, 



Translation, Grays Alcaic Ode. 207 

Where swarm with beelike hum the countless souls 

Corporeal limbs about to reassume, 

After their exile long from life and light, 

After their penance sharp of fire and wind, 

Quaffing the wave of dim forgetfulness, 

Which memory of the past erases quite, 

With discontinuous life the heart to bless 

And give from keen remorse deliverance sweet ; 

Thus reminiscence leaving far behind 

Emerge they fresh existence to repeat ; 

Thus laved and clean they pass in long review 

After their draughts of Lethe's healing dew. 



TRANSLATION, GRAY'S ALCAIC ODE. 

[Written in the Album of the Grande Chartreuse, Dau- 
phieny, 1 741.] 

f~\ THOU, who hallowest this place austere, 

^-^ Whatever name rejoices thee to hear, 

For no light deity sure haunteth here, 

The genius native to these ancient woods, 

These torrents loud and savage solitudes ! 

Divinity more present we adore 

Here, where these steeps and trackless summits 

soar. 
And sounding waters ever foam and roar 
By night of sombre forest boughs arched o'er ; 
Than if gold-wrought by Phidian art divine 
He fulgent sate 'neath roof of cedarn shrine. 



208 Nightwind—Poet. 

If with due reverence I thee address, 
Grant me, a youth world-weary, quietness. 
Here in these calm retreats I fain would dwell, 
Where Law of Silence spreads its holy spell ; 
If Fortune, this forbidding, shall once more 
Engulf me, where life's angry surges roar, 
At least, O Father, grant my age may find 
In nook remote, a care-free, tranquil mind, 
Where, hushed by distance tumult of the crowd, 
Perturbeth not repose, no longer loud. 



NIGHTWIND—POET. 

Nightwind. 

\\ 7 AIL I in the hours of darkness 

^ O'er a world of change and death, 
Why should not to notes of sorrow 

Be attuned my fitful breath ? 
In the sad, autumnal season, 

Wildest sounds my long-drawn sigh, 
While the clouds make haste through heaven, 

And the leaves before me fly. 

Poet. 

Lonesome wind, a lonely dreamer 
Finds you keyed unto his mood, 

Though your notes are wild and dreary, 
Still they soothe his solitude. 



Nightwind — Poet. 209 

For from spirit-realm they summon 
Forms and faces once most dear. 

Thus your sad, nocturnal dirges, 
Welcome are to poet's ear. 

Nightwind. 

Ever in the brown October, 

Through the immemorial past, 
Over forest, lake, and fenland, 

Thus has raved my nightly blast. 
Thus the summer's faded tresses 

Have my swift gusts whirled on high, 
With the rustling gold of autumn 

Strowing all the earth and sky. 

Poet. 

Vain are all things human, mortal, 

Seems your gusty moan to say, 
Like to leaves man's generations 

Feel the blight of swift decay. 
Like to leaves his hopes are blasted 

By the frost of chill mischance — 
Vainly 'gainst his limits strives he, 

Thrall of fate and circumstance. 

Nightwind. 

What is earth but one vast charnel, 

Dust of fleeting tribes of man 
Sinking back into her bosom, 

Since the flight of years began ? 



14 



210 The Loon. 

Whatsoe'er they did or suffered, 
Lethe claimed them all at last — 

I, the Nightwind, unforgetting, 
Chant their requiem with my blast. 

Poet. 

Airy minstrel of the midnight, 

General wailer o'er the dead, 
Annual filling earth and heaven 

With thy moans for all things fled, 
Never sang a human poet, 

Strains so weirdly sad as thine, 
Strains that with a wild emotion 

Thrill this lonely heart of mine. 



THE LOON, 
OR GREAT NORTHERN DIVER. 

i. 

WINGED correlate of moose, bear, cariboo, 
Creatures of sylvan nature's savage mood, 
With primitive and uncouth forms indued, 
And cries and voices keyed to solitude, 
Such screams and wails as ancient nature knew, 
When man in caves still inarticulate grew, 
Lone lakes remote thy lavatories be ; 
Eluding in their depths the hunter's eye, 
Thou taunt'st him from afar with clamorous cry, 
As of derisive laughter, maniac glee. 
Where falls the shadow of the desert pine 



The Pries fs Remedy. 2 1 1 

On coves of wild-wood meres thou oar'st thy way 
With swan-like stateliness at day's decline, 
Startling with screams unearthly twilight gray. 



Deepening the weirdness of the forest old, 
Which, hushed and sad, seems brooding on the 

days 
When mammoths, crashing, roamed its branchy 

maze, 
And beasts and men were of a huger mould. 
In immemorial years of that far past, 
Oh, raucous bird, thy kindred screamed and dived, 
And with the moose and reindeer have survived, 
Where primitive woods their mystic shadows cast, 
In a still vigorous progeny, which soon 
The hunter's rifle will exterminate, 
Sole live things of the world's primeval state, 
Still stirring in the light of sun and moon, 
As fast as vanishes the forest's gloom, 
Wild creatures of its shades must meet their doom. 



TWO SONNETS. 

THE PRIEST'S REMEDY. 

' / "HE bahfi of future bliss, Sir Priest, not long 
* Will work e'en on the plebs low-browed and 

dull, 
Whose hard-earned pence keep Peter's treasury 
full, 



212 Holy Sees. 

And thee in clover, ruddy, fresh, and strong. 
This life is somewhat they begin to feel ; 
Homes they demand, if not so proud and high 
The so-called house of God towers towards the 

sky 
At their expense, while they in penury kneel. 
Is the hereafter made more bright and sure 
By living here in squalor, ignorance, crime ? 
Hope is a diet thin, howe'er sublime. 
Faith's poppy soon will cease to drug the poor, 
Sword, cross, and sceptre longer to obey, 
While feast the few the many born to sway. 

HOLY SEES. 

ERE Peter's dome o'er Southern Europe rose, 
The shrine of Delphos was the Holy See, 
The Pythia's lips heaven's will did then disclose 
Foaming with a prophetic ecstasy. 
The old world swarmed to bright Apollo's steep, 
Climbing the Pleistus-gorge in ceaseless throngs. 
Thither the pilgrims went with faith as deep 
As unto current devotees belongs, 
Who wearily fare to Mecca and to Rome, 
As unto Deity's especial home, 
Where his anointed earthly agents dwell, 
Whose acts he faileth not to ratify 
With nod of assent from his throne on high, 
Whether their sentence be to heaven or hell 



Nature 2 1 ; 



NATURE. 

'""THOU art silent : Man, thy creature, 
* Rises oft to explanation, — 
Kindly lends his gods to aid thee 

In thine endless task, creation ; 
Builds he on thy breast his temples 

Underneath the boundless azure ; 
Gradually to dust the ages 

Crumble them .with sure erasure. 

Shrines and creeds arise and vanish 

While thy skies are blue as ever, 
Bending as in calm derision 

O'er the bigot's vain endeavor. 
Thou art silent, Solemn Mother ! 

But have lived in all the ages 
Souls with thy sublime composure, 

Who have read thy star-strewn pages. 

They, thy grand reserve revering, 

With no selfish prayers were kneeling ; 
Unto such thy secret ever, 

Glimpse by glimpse, art thou revealing, 
Truth's torch-bearers, wide and wider 

They her radiance are diffusing, 
Gloom of ancient night dispelling, 

Mind from error's fetters loosing. 



2 1 4 Moonlight. 

Vision of thine awful beauty 

Once rash mortals perished seeing ; 
Now no more thine unveiled presence 

Are thy chosen votaries fleeing ; 
On their lonely vigils stealing 

Com'st thou frequent, unaware, 
Fillest with ambrosial fragrance, 

Where they muse, the awe-hushed air. 

Vistas fathomless of glory 

Doth thy waving wand unfold, 
Blossoms on the world-tree bursting, 

Starry fruitage they behold 
Hanging under other heavens, 
Other firmaments sublime, 
Where the bloom of young creation 

Still is in its matin prime. 



AROMAS. 



MOONLIGHT. 



TV/l OONLIGHTED world, what soothing calm 
* ^ *■ And benediction breathe from thee ! 
The great sun splendor hath, but charm 
Dwells in the moon's periphery. 

The cynosure of all the eyes, 

Which e'er this complex scanned of things, 
Still reigns the moon, and from the skies 

A mystery sweet o'er nature flings. 



June. 215 

Lover and poet from her face 

Feel o'er them steal divine repose — 

To maiden's beauty lend her rays, 
A witchery no daylight knows. 

Love, loneliness, and silence all 

Are deepest 'neath her midnight beam ; 

Then most can beauty's might enthrall — 
Then hearts with most effusion stream. 



11. 

JUNE. 

THE grass in billows rolling ; 
The play of sheen and shadow- 
The oriole's fitful fluting — 

The bloom of field and meadow — 
The surge of life and beauty 

The humblest nook inflowing— 
The rainbow's arch of triumph 

With green and violet glowing — 
The bee with fragrance laden, 

The golden elfin hummer, 
Like arrow swiftly raiding 

On velvet buds of summer, 
These mean that June is reigning, 

That quick must be our greeting, 
For peerless as her bloom is, 

It is as brief and fleeting. 



216 The Problem. 



w 



III. 
THE LOVER. 
HEN night with restful shade 



Thrice-prayed-for falls round me, 
Last gleam of consciousness 
Is tender thought of thee. 

That thought the beams of morn 
First kindle in my brain — 

Through din of day 't is borne 
To stilly night again. 

IV. 
THE PROBLEM. 
| SEARCHED the tomes of famous sages, 
* Bards, mystics, thinkers of all ages — 
Fine things were sprinkled o'er their pages, 
But to the question whence and where 
No certain answer found I there, 
But only vague surmise or hardy affirmation, 
Which Faith received at Power's dictation. 
I turned from shallow lore of men 
To grassy page of nature, then, 
To shade of night, to sheen of day, 
To foodful earth, to ocean gray, 
To viewless winds that rave or sigh, 
To clouds, the sailors of the sky, 
To rivers, which 'twixt mountain, sea-beach ply, 
To stars, that twinkle dim on high, 
But nature, mute, deigned no reply ; 
Too busy in her grand vocation 
To pause for word of explanation. 



The Indian s Heaven. 217 

v. 
LA VIDA ES SUENO. 

QUDDEN emerging from the depths of sleep 

^ In silence of the middle night, we seem 
Only awaking to another dream, 

From mystery to mystery still more deep. 

From birth to death we swiftly glide along 

Upon the stream of years, voyagers, that know 
Not whence we came, nor to what port we go, 

Borne by a current fathomless and strong. 

To waifs like to ourselves we fondly cling, 
Only to feel the sweet ties severed soon, 
Only to know that 'neath the sun and moon 

The heart is mocked and finds no lasting thing. 

Why stretch vain hands of longing ? Calmly 
glide, 

Nor try to stem life's darkly rushing tide. 



THE INDIAN'S HEAVEN. 

[From Schiller.] 

\17HERE he has gone no winter chills, 
" * There never falleth snow ; 
Spontaneous o'er the happy fields 

The golden maize-ears grow ; 
With birds the tuneful thickets swarm, 

With game the forests dim ; 
In lakes ne'er rough with gale or storm, 

In shoals the fishes swim. 



2 1 8 Monticello. 



MONTICELLO. 

(to r. s. s .) 

'THROUGH storied Monticello, I 
* Would fain with you have wandered 
Recalled its Sage and o'er his home's 

Dilapidation pondered. 
You write that weeds its courts invade 

The threshold overgrowing : 
No more the light of other days 

From friendly windows glowing. 
An Ossianic look it wears, 

To judge from your epistle, 
A haunt for fox and bat and owI r 

And sterile growths of thistle ; 
Where undisturbed the spider weaves 

His web o'er pane and ceiling, — 
Apt, like thy towers, Afrasiab, 

To stir a saddened feeling. 
The mountains near through summer air 

Their ridges blue upheaving, 
Oft as he scaled their breezy heights, 

Unmeasured outlook giving. 
These are his monuments — dull Time's 

Corrosive tooth defying ; 
Throwing their shadows o'er the sward, 

'Neath which his dust is lying. 



Septennial Venus. 219 

He made the dreams of lone Rousseau 

The charter of our nation : 
What though his whilom mansion is 

A wreck and desolation ? 
It matters not — his fame is sure — 

The fabric, which he builded, 
Though shaken sore is still upright — 

Its timbers have not yielded. 



SEPTENNIAL VENUS. 

RESPLENDENT star of Morn and Even too— 
Thou radiant pursuivant of dawning light, 
Hurling thy shafts through noon-tide's cloudless 

blue, 
Regent of sunset-spaces vast and bright ! 
Hence, Hesper called in mythic ages old, 
Bringing the flock home to the darkening fold. 
Foul wrong they did when with thy name they 

starred 
The giant angel of Revolt with thunder scarred. 
The peace of Morn and Even sheddest thou 
Sprinkling with dew the fevered, pallid brow. 
Of yore Hesperian climes and fabled isles 
Stretched clear-obscure beneath thy starry smiles : 
His sceptre wielded sky-fallen Saturn gray 
In splendor of thy sparkling, sunset ray. 



22o The Hunter s Moon. 



THE HUNTER'S MOON. 

T AST night the Hunter's Moon serenely shone 
*-' Transmuting all things to white Parian stone. 
In vain in that weird sheen was slumber sought — 
The brain by Luna fired was over-wrought. 
Outside the trees disleaved and spectral stood, 
While far-off stars, lone isles in argent skies, 
Witched with their beams the sleepless watcher's 

eyes 
That nearer on their shores would fain intrude : 
But hopeless isolation, voids of space, 
Which wing of seraph might not dare explore, 
Leave them a beauteous mystery evermore 
From far depths beaming on the upturned face 
With melancholy radiance meek and mild, 
As if their spheres had never sin inisled. 



THE GERMAN MUSE vs. THE ENGLISH. 

[From the German of Klopstock.] 

r^ LOWING with rivalry I saw the Muse 
^-^ Of German-land with Britain's Muse contend. 
Two goals of emulation dimly rose 
Afar erected at the arena's end. 



The German Muse vs. the English. 221 

One goal with Orient palms o'ershadovved stood, 
While Druid boughs above the other sighed ; 

Inured to conflict, and of haughty mood, 
The Britoness her crownless rival eyed. 

Over the lists had oft careered her feet, 

For 'gainst the Muse of Hellas she had run, 

And with Rome's loftiest genius dared compete, 
And in the contest bays immortal won. 

Her rival there before her trembling stood 
With eagerness, not fear, for she was bold. 

The rose of victory on her flushed cheek glowed, 
And o'er her shoulders waved her locks of gold. 

Her breath scarce in her heaving breast she held ; 

She thought the herald's trumpet pealing rung ; 
Glistened her eyes with joy ; her bosom swelled, 

As towards the goal she bending forward hung. 

Proud of her rival, of herself more proud, 
With haughty glance the Britoness surveyed 

Tuisco's glorious daughter ; then aloud, 

Ah ! yes, we grew together in the forest's shade, 

Old bards about our cradles darkling sang ; 

Their boughs above us waved the oak-groves 
hoar ; 
But in mine ears an idle rumor rang 

Long since, that thou, my sister, wast no more. 

Pardon, if thou art an immortal too ; 
At yonder barrier I the truth shall learn. 



222 The German Muse vs. the English. 

It standeth there, the goal of oaks in view ; 

And, farther on, canst thou the goal of palms 
discern ? 

Thou standest mute ; but ah, full well I know 
That daring scarce repressed, that silence proud, 

Those looks of fire, which, darting earthward, glow, 
Are each more eloquent than utterance loud. 

Yet ere his perilous note the herald sound 

And ere thy breast the trumpet's signal thrills, 

Bethink thee ; I invincible was found 
By Her of Hellas and the Seven Hills ! 

She spake ; the herald with his trump drew near 
The signal of the struggle dread to peal ; 

Daughter of Albion to me most dear, 
For thee profoundest loyalty I feel. 

Warmly I love thee ; but e'en more than thee 
The imperishable bay, the conqueror's meed ; 

Seize, if thou wilt, the wreath of victory ; 
A moiety of renown at least to me concede. 

How throbs my pulse ! haply the goal sublime, 
Ye powers immortal, I may first attain ! 

Feeling thy breath, O Britoness, meantime 
Stirring my locks, as I the triumph gain ! 

Sudden the trumpet sounded, and they flew, 
As flies an eagle o'er the vast career ; 

But dust-clouds rising wrapt them from the view, 
As they unto the goal of oaks drew near. 



June. 223 



JUNE. 

P ARTH, a mighty censer, swings 
*— ' Fuming odors to the Sun : 
Scents of myriad blossomings 

Which fresh nature overrun. 
Streets with orchard-blooms are strown, 

And where'er the Southwind stirs 
Balms are to the nostrils blown 

Making all men worshippers. 

Hebe's month, refulgent June, 

All too evanescent thou ! 
Buds to blossoms haste too soon 

Hanging fruits upon the bough : 
None but festal days are thine, 

Breathing youth and hope and joy : 
Blooms half-opened round thee twine, 

Maiden beauty makes thee coy. 
Comes Midsummer, gorgeous queen, 

Weaving mists of sun and shower : 
Bringing woods a brighter green, 

And the rose to perfect flower. 



224 The Desert. 



THE STREAM OF LIFE. 

THE viewless stream of consciousness, 
* Of thought and will and feeling 
So long reflecting night and day, 

Beyond their sphere is stealing, — 
From mystic fount on heights of youth 

Long years ago \ was springing, 
And mountain steep and piny gorge 

Were with its loud glee ringing. 

Dull clouds of woe, sun-gleams of joy 

Have gloomed, have glassed its flowing, — 
Through headlong youth, through manhood stern, 

Without a pause 't was going : 
At length, it nears the engulfing sea, 

Outside of life dim heaving, 
And stillier grows its current as 

Its wonted banks *t is leaving. 



ORIENTALISMS. 



THE DESERT. 



A NGELS and gods and demons in the waste 
**■ Semitic prophets, saviors met of old, 
The sandy columns that before them rolled, 
Whirled by the simoom's breath with lurid haste, 



Temple Cities. 225 

Were guiding deities. Fierce heat and glare 
Fill with illusions all the desert's air 
Fevering each throbbing sense, till voices scare 
Of dead or far-off friends, and shadows dire 
Beckon to ruin. 'Neath the noonday's fire 
Mirage rears on the horizon's quivering rim 
Green bowers of rest and paradises dim 
With breezy boughs, whence minarets aspire ; 
There Christ met Satan, and remorseful Paul 
A dread voice heard through burning noontide call. 



TEMPLE-CITIES— JERUSALEM, DELPHI. 

C\ TEMPLE-CITIES of the past ! your days 
^-^ Of dominating grandeur were the same ; 
Upon the mountains pedestalled the rays 
Of morning kindled you with Orient flame. 
Phoibos — Jehovah — each a mighty name, 
Which spellbound many a glorious ancient race, 
Gave to your temples all their sway and fame, — 
Each was a. genius loei, spirit of a place 
And nation grand, which could the ages mould. 
The Lord of light and prophecy and song 
Has to a lovely myth been dwindled long. 
Still o'er the poet's land he sway doth hold, 
While Israel's perfect lore of right and wrong 
The empire of his god will yet prolong, 
15 



226 A Caucus of Crows. 



TO SWEDENBORG. 

(~\ MYSTIC, moony-faced with dreamy eyes ! 
^-■^ Into thy tomes, dead seas of platitude, 

Venturous and bold is he who dares intrude. 
Yet thou a seer art thought by men full wise, 

So to thy manes I will not be rude — 
Thine ecstasies of fragrant Mocha born, 
I deem, without which thou wast all forlorn. 

With God himself thou didst converse at will, 
The mighty dead were vocal to thine ear ; 
Thy soul at pleasure roamed the spirit sphere, 

While of the body it was tenant still. 
Hallucinations such as these were worth 
All dazzling baubles most esteemed of earth. 



A CAUCUS OF CROWS. 

\\ 7ITH many a jubilant hurrah 
* * A swarm of crows flew here and there 
With swift gyrations through the air, 
In caucus met from near and far. 
Over a pinewood, like a cloud, 
They whirling hung with clamors loud. 
'T was dull November, and the day 
Was overcast, blank, drizzly, gray. 
Perching they blackened all the wood 
In a deliberative mood. 



A Caucus of Croivs. 227 

An ancient Corvus from his bill 
Persuasive accents did distil : 

11 Winged darkies, what a gloomy scene ! 
Only the pine trees now are green, 
And not a corn ear can we glean. 
The orchard birds have flown away 
To sun themselves in tropic ray. 
Why linger we, whose wings are strong 
For migrant flight, however long ? 
Let 's instant scale the heights of air 
And to the summerlands repair. 
The puny bluebird e'en is there, 
At least an equal enterprise 
Should waft us, too, to warmer skies. 
O'er these hard acres, rocky, rough, 
We 've vainly foraged long enough. 
Needless the scarecrows which they place 
On this lean soil to fright our race. 
E'en weevils give the barren earth, 
In pure disgust, a wide, wide berth. 
Let 's probe yon sullen, leaden sky, 
Till palm and orange we descry. 
Why sit we here with pinions furled, 
As if this spot were all the world ? 
The stupid goose of heavy flight 
Is yet a winged cosmopolite. 
O'er rivers, steeples, mountains, lakes, 
His airy way each fall he takes, 
Leaves frozen fens and storms behind 
High-voyaging on the southward wind 



228 Our Bards. 

Unto his austral sojourn, where 

In reedy solitudes rich fare 

He faileth not with ease to find. 

There, warmed by tropic suns and moons, 

He oars his way o'er still lagoons ; 

His feathered squadrons safely swim 

Paludal pools in graceful trim, 

From predatory man afar, 

With naught their pastimes sweet to mar. 

Let 's follow where the goose has gone 

And hibernate in softer zone. 

'T is true our sombre plumage may 

Not quite bent a brighter day, 

But, maugre that, let 's speed away." 

" Well said, old maize thief ! " cried a young 
Irreverent crow of ribald tongue. 
Whereat they mounted one and all 
Swiftly to heights ethereal ; 
Then heading southward swiftly flew, 
til they winnowed summery blue. 



OUR BARDS. 

A S when in some May morning twilight, sweet 
** With scent of springtime's bursting buds, a 

low, 
Contagious twittering the ear doth greet, 

Spreading from bough to bough — still louder grow 
The notes — with sunrise, in clear carols flow ; 



The Veiled his. 229 

Not Europe's sunny South in Petrarch's time 
Was more melodious with amorous rhyme 

Than are these states. The far Sierras break 
In strains uncouth. Our singers of the West 
No eagle pinions bear aloft in blaze 

Of zenith-climbing sun ; their flight they take 
O'er lowly meads — in orchards trill their lays, 
And, like the mocking-bird, they still love best 
To thrill with borrowed notes the listener's breast. 

Some English master first the keynote sounds, 
Then cis-Atlantic bards break into song. 
'T was Byron, Wordsworth, Scott, and Shelley long, 

Whose styles were reproduced within our bounds. 
'T is Tennyson and Morris, Browning now. 
A wild-wood native wreath alone the brow 

Of Emerson with laureate leaves surrounds. 

Erotomaniac Swinburne e'en the rounds 
Of our nice monthlies sadly watered runs. 
Of yore thus haughty Rome's poetic sons 

Kindled their spirits cold with Grecian fire. 

Alcseus, Sappho tuned the Latin lyre 
Of Horace — thus ungenial Roman wit 
Was with the blight of imitation smit. 



THE VEILED ISIS. 

" I AM all that ever has been, 
* And whate'er existeth now ; 

I am all that ever will be, 

And the veil which hides my brow 



230 Sonnet to Carl Sckurz. 

Mortal yet hath never lifted." 
Such was the inscription grand 

O'er the statue veiled of Isis, 
Which in Sais old did stand. 

Were the mighty Mother's image 

Carven now, as 't was of yore, 
Half-withdrawn her starry peplum 

Would her whole face hide no more 
Glimpses of her august beauty 

To her suitors yields she now — 
Stands no more a templed mystery, 

To which mortals blindly bow. 



SONNET TO CARL SCHURZ. 

A TEUTON thou and worthy of thy race — 
**■ Thus while I listen, gazing on thy brow 
With thought's clear sigil stamped, persuasion's 
grace • 

Thy lips o'erflowing, — recalls my mind somehow 
Old Homer's broad-browed oxen of the Sun, 

Which in Apollo's temple-pastures fed. 
The far-fetched fancy through my brain to run 

Doubtless did cause thy spacious-fronted head, 
Eurymetopos* 'tis old Homer's phrase. 

Wherefore a glorious sun-ox call I thee, 



* EvpvS, wide, broad, — frequently used in Homer of 

heaven, earth, and sea ; and MerooTtov , the space between 

the eyes, and hence the forehead. yEtna is called the 
Me tgd7Zov of Sicily by Pindar, P. 1, 57. 



Rivers. 2 3 x 

Worthy the prairie-pastures vast to graze, 

Where sunset's ruminants roam unmuzzled, free, 
To which thou fled'st for refuge when the ire 
Of kings pursued thee with a menace dire. 



RIVERS. 



L 



EVELLERS, lucid pathways to the sea, 
Clear veins and arteries of mother earth 
Draining the clouds which fold the mountains' 

brows 
For dews to make the valleys green below ! 
Realms are your gifts, conquerors of barrenness, 
Mirrors of mightiest nations' capitals ; 
Desert were continents and herbless wastes 
Did not your liquid largess make them fair 
With flowers and waving grain and homes of men. 
Mediators 'twixt earth and azure sky, 
The lonely urns which feed your gracious flow 
Might well be guarded by divinities, 
The beauteous denizens of fable-land, 
Naiads with locks of amber-dropping hair 
And genii hoar, with dripping temples horned 
In sign of regal might and majesty. 
Singing, you leave your natal clouds behind, 
The granite water-sheds, that give you birth, 
And leap from crag to crag to plains below, 
Longing to reach the ocean-valley vast, 
Of inland waters' terminus and bourne. 
Your banks were civilization's primal haunts ; 



232 Rivers. 

From out your inundating slime arose 

Priesthoods and royalties in history's dawn. 

Engarlanded with fruits of all the zones 

Commerce fast by your deltaed mouths upsprung, 

Binding in bonds of brotherhood the world. 

O rivers of the late-found West ! long time 

In solitude unsung, unknown, you flowed ! 

Naiad nor God tended your hidden urns, 

With brooding brows watching you well to light ; 

No votive locks of youths and maidens fair 

Floated adown your forest-mirroring streams ; 

No festal barge of beauty crowned was oared, 

To sound of flutes, upon your waters clear. 

But when, at length, the tardy poet came, 

He found you ministering to his musing moods 

With inspiration true, if not so high, 

As that which Mincius, Meles, Avon gave. 

O lovely lakes and tarns innumerous, 

Eying with lucid depths our western world, 

Fair nursing mothers ye of thousand streams, 

That furrow all our treey continent, 

Reflecting in their depths primeval woods, 

With gold of cereal harvests interspersed. 

'Twixt frowning mountain walls and wizard shores, 

Imperial Hudson, with triumphal stream, 

Rolls statelier than Danube or than Rhine 

Deploying through the Palisades upon the sea, 

With commerce-laden waters, past the domes 

And spires of glittering Mannahatta knit 

By steamers plying, shuttle-like, athwart 

The waves to all towns metropolitan, 



Free Translations from Goethe ' s Faust. 233 

In bonds of traffic and of sisterhood. 

No haze of mediaeval centuries 

Gives sentimental charm, O river grand, 

Unto thy banks, but maize-crowned Autumn swathes 

Them with a natural glory fairer far. 

Well might the fabled sleeper couched aloft 

In some lone dell o'erlooking thy broad stream 

Dream on through decades long of lapsing years, 

Till his own generation all were gone. 

The weird myth is in sweet accord with thy 

Autumnal witcheries and storied shores, 

Where sleeps the wizard, who with pen, wand-like, 

Hath legended thy stream for evermore. 



FREE TRANSLATIONS FROM GOETHE'S 
FAUST. 



FAUST S DEATH SONG. 

r\ BLEST is he around whose temples Death 
^-^ The blood-stained laurel wreathes 'mid 

victory's splendor, 
Whom, after mazes of the giddy dance, 

He finds at rest in arms of maiden tender ; 
O would, when heart and soul were all aglow, 
With lightning swiftness he had struck me low ! 



234 Free Translations from Goethe's Faust. 
ii. 

FAUST CONTEMPLATING SUNSET. 

Behold how in the evening sunbeams shimmer 
The hamlets girt with sward of freshest green, 

Where while the spent day fades to twilight glim- 
mer, 
There yonder hastes it to another scene. 

that from earth might lift me pinions light 
To follow ever on its traces bright ! 

Would I might see in endless sunset's sheen 
The stilly world beneath me ever glowing 

With heights on fire, vales hushed in peace serene, 
And silver brooks to golden rivers flowing ! 

No mountain wild could with its gorges stay 

My godlike transit, or my flight delay. 

How fair its warm, bright bays the sea would 
spread 

In sunset ripples 'neath my ravished eyes ! 
While endlessly, 'mid pomp of vapors red, 

The God of Day would sink to other skies ; 
Meantime, with night behind and day before, 

1 drink eternal splendor evermore. 

In every breast a wild, ebullient feeling, 
That yearns to soar aloft, afar, is born, 

When over us the lark his lay is pealing 
Lost in the heights of azure air forlorn, 

When o'er the pine-plumed mountain high 
The buoyant eagle sails with wings outspread, 



Free Translations from Goet lie's Faust. 235 

And migratory cranes their pinions ply 
By lure of home o'er seas and deserts led. 

FAUST AT HIS VIGILS. 



O Plenilune, whose beams so oft have shone 
On me at this dull desk my vigils keeping, 

Would for the last time that thy radiance lone 
My woe were in its dewy splendor steeping ! * 

Long, long o'er piles of books and papers dreary, 

O pensive orb, I 've watched thee sad and weary. 

11. 
Would that over some breezy mountain tall 

In sheen of thy loved rays I now were going, 
And in thy midnight dews, that softly fall, 

Were finding bath of health in starlight flowing ! 
Through mountain gorge and over glimmering 

meadow 
With lightened brain would float I like a shadow. 

in. 
Here in this Gothic chamber prisoned still 

I 'm breathing dungeon air, with dampness shak- 
ing ; 
Here e'en the beams of heaven with joy that thrill 
Through blurred and painted panes are sadly 
breaking. 
O'er me a book-piled vault all gloomy hovers, 
Where revel moths and dust the learned tomes 
covers. 



236 The Old Voyagers, 

IV. 

A smoke-bleared, book-and-paper world doth hold 

Me in its dull environment forever, 
Mid glasses, chests, and heirlooms manifold 

Close crammed with carefullest endeavor — 
Then, askest thou, why in thy bosom beating 
With stifled throbs thy heart itself is eating ? 

v. 

Instead of living nature, where erst men 

'Mid flowers and streams and trees high God 
created, 
Immured within this smoky, mouldy den, 

To live 'mid dead men's bones thou seemest 
fated. 
Up, then, to fields and forests straight be flying 
Afar with this thrice mystic volume hieing. 



THE OLD VOYAGERS. 



T^HEY roamed in lonely seas, in far-off isles, 
* And arms of maids barbaric found a spell, 

Like Homer's Lotos, having power to quell 
Nostalgia's pangs. Contented in the smiles 

Of their Calypsos evermore to dwell, 
All day, at ease with their wild charmers laid 
In dalliance sweet beneath the breadfruit's shade 
They heard the ocean pulsing on the shore. 

A wild and supple progeny beside 



To the Nile. 237 

Them quickly sprung, linking them more and more 
Unto the savage strands, where they had found 
An unbought hospitality — free ground, 

Unfenced, undeeded, beautiful as wide. 
What wonder some would nevermore resume 
Shackles of civilization 'mid such bloom ! 



After a generation e'en, that quick 

In climes remote and strange adventures passed, 
The malady of home would make some sick, 

Till eager for return they travelled fast. 
Alas ! What found they in their fatherlands ? 

The grassy burial mounds of kindred flown, 

Themselves to strangers changed, whom none 
would own — 
A coldness worse than that of alien strands ; 

Such sad experience waited Mandeville 
From Ind and far Cathay returning lone, 

Deeming his presence would his old home thrill 
With joy. The hoary voyager came too late. 
The hearts that loved him, stilled by time and fate, 
Were throbless in the dust. New faces gaze 
Upon the weary Pilgrim with amaze. 



TO THE NILE. 

r\ STORIED Nile ! your waters have up-borne 
^—' All kinds of men and craft, from cradle light 
Of foundling Moses, barge of Cleopatra fair, 
Galley of Caesar conquering lands of morn, 



238 Byron and Shelley. 

To Nelson's fleet, exploding into air 
Napoleon's, leaving him in sorry plight. 
All these thy mystic waters rolling down 
From Libyan lakes through sand-flats silent, brown, 
Have floated through the long-drawn centuries 
'Neath blue, blue skies with languid breeze. 
Now lotos-eating New-World millionaires 
With pretty daughters drift upon thy tide, 
Over the Sphynx-sown levels gazing wide, 
Forgetful of their Corners, Rings, and Cares. 



BYRON AND SHELLEY. 

[ IKE theirs no accents since have rolled 
*— ' The whole wide earth from zone to zone 
In briefest years they made their own, 
For they were doomed not to be old. 

No sicklied, cloistered bards were they : 
Their songs are fresh as breaking day ; 
They felt the impulse wild and free 
Of Europe bent on liberty ; 
They groped not in the twilight dim 
Of mythic times for myths to hymn 
In dainty numbers, honey-sweet, 
To lull the ear of caste effete. 
Though on the heights of fortune born, 
They were the scalds of Freedom's morn, 
And through their glowing numbers came 
The Revolution's breath of flame. 
An indignation fierce, sublime, 
Made theirs no dilettante rhyme. 



Morning. 239 

For man, the martyr held so long 

In despot's clutch, they wrought with song, 

Indignant melody, that made 

His dull oppressors' hearts afraid. 



When Czar and Kaiser's sceptres old 
Are broke and tyrants' days are told ; 
When the last Pontiff lies inurned, 
And ritual spice no more is burned : 
Then on some rose-hued Alpine height, 
Which rays of morn and evening smite, 
Their forms colossal wrought should stand, 
High o'er the Switzer's chainless land, 
Far-seen, far-shining evermore, 
While pilgrims haunt Lake Leman's shore. 



SPRING. 



T^HE Mighty Mother waneth not, 
* But keeps the promise of her prime ; 
Spring thrills through earth's remotest spot 
And sweetest comes to harshest clime. 

O germs of beauty, joy, and life ! 

Which darkling lurked in frozen mould, 
When wintry winds and storms were rife, 

As fresh as e'er your blooms unfold ! 



240 Spring. 

To vernal beam and call of May, 
And music of the golden bee, 

Again with youth and beauty gay 
Comes forth the lost Persephone. 



And with her brings the birds of spring 
From southern sojourns far away ; 

O'er northern fields the swallow's wing 
Is glancing in the vernal ray. 



The long day broodeth warm and bright 
O'er loosened streams and mount and plain 

The south wind wooes with whispers light 
The grass and foliage back again. 

But vainly to the dead below 

He murmurs soft with plaintive sigh, — 
Unheeding of the season's glow 

In mouldering apathy they lie. 

His gentle clarion cannot wake 

Their dark encampment lone and cold ; 

Filled full of rest, no heed they take 
Of ge^ 1 : ' r* root and mould. 



Pioneers. 24 1 



PIONEERS. 

I N Custom's ruts how smoothly roll 
* The noiseless wheels along ! 
Upon the beaten highway tread 
The many-footed throng. 

But who would open regions new, 
Where Truth in covert dwells, 

With axe two-edged his way must hew 
Nor heed enchanters' spells. 

Full many a blow and many a life 

It takes a path to clear, 
A little foot-track scarce observed 

Through Error's jungle drear. 

But soon to spacious highway grown 
That little path has spread ; 

Then cars triumphal o'er it roll, 
It feet innumerous tread. 

But o'er the martyred pioneers, 

Who for the sunbeams made 

An entrance with their blood and tears, 

Oblivion spreads her shade. 
16 



242 Saturn and Jupiter. 



GIORDANO BRUNO. 

BURNT FEB. 17, 1600. 

CULL high-advanced, Truth's banner bright he 

*■ bore 

In a still priestly age, which fagots piled 

Around the Sons of Light, whose spirits soar, 

By fires ecclesiastic, undefiled, 

Into the heaven of fame, whence rule they now 

The realm of thought with sovereign, kingly sway, 

Hierophants of Truth, before them bow 

The nations, — gladly their behests obey. 

Immortal Bruno ! haply yet will stand 

Over the ruins of the Roman Baal, 

Whose minions burnt thy flesh, thy statue grand,* 

For full enfranchised times and men to hail, 

When hierarchies proud no more can bind 

With slavish dogmas e'en the common mind. 



SATURN AND JUPITER. 

'"THE stellar kings of old astrology, 
* Saturn and Jove, at eve their thrones ascend, 
But faith in might of stars an eager eye 
No more upon their aspects bright doth bend 



* These lines were written before Bruno's statue was 
erected at Rome on the site of his martyrdom. 



The Hunter s Moon. 243 

For signs of destiny. No more they shine, 
Portents of fate, malignant or benign, 
At puny man's birth-hour. In other days 
The arrogant fancy peopled starry space 
With deities, who, from their luminous spheres, 
Made man's behoof their chiefest, only care — 
Planets august ! This eve's autumnal air 
Rejoices in your beams. The ripened year's 
Horn of abundance, poured o'er misty vale 
And hill in moonshine steeped, with joy we hail. 



THE HUNTER'S MOON. 

ORAVELY through flying rack the hunter's 

*— ' moon 

Is struggling zenithward with fitful ray ; 

Now darkling gleams, now pours a paler day 

Effulgent through the vapors round her strewn. 

At length she conquers ; heaven is all her own ; 

In argent splendor bask beneath her throne 

Lakes, crimsoned forests, vales and streams 

And mountain summits lone and cold and hoar, 

Cities and hamlets still. O Satellite ! 

Thy lustre is too strong for sleep and dreams ; 

Night is not darkness in thy fulgent light, 

But milder day. From sun to sun they pour, 

Thy beams on silent towns, reaped fields of maize 

Mingling with rosy Dawn's thy pallid rays. 



244 -An October Eve. 



AN OCTOBER EVE. 

XeAovjuevoS 
'Adrep o7tGopivcp evaXiyuiov, oS re /laXidra 
AafiTtpov itafxq>aivr}6i XeXovjusvoS 'fLxeavdio. 

Iliad, v., 5. 

/^VCTOBER'S eves are lucid, soft, and warm, 
^-^ And through the rosy veils of twilight air 
The stars burn with a radiance rich and rare, 
A naphthaline splendor, whether they swarm 
In golden groups or solitary shine. 
Like Homer's Sirius, from ocean's brine, 
Which then glowed brightest, stars and planets 

blaze 
With red autumnal fire, and lo ! the moon, 
A glorious crescent, adds her dewy rays 
To make a perfect night ; but she too soon 
Hastes to her setting in the roseate west. 
As gorgeously the earth below is drest 
In crimson foliage as the sky in beams. 
Sleep will to-night be fraught with glorious dreams. 



OCEAN. 



EVELLER, purger, eater of continents, isles, 
*~* Feeder of nations, with thy finny droves 
Rising in homage, when the young moon smiles, 
Obsequious thy tidewave 'neath her moves, 



HerscheVs Star-Clusters. 245 

Swelling and foaming on from midmost sea 
Shoreward, with haughty and illumined crest, 

Thy floor a hidden charnel will not be 
Forever, but again in green be drest. 

With saltless rills thy vales will murmur then ; 

Thy submerged mountains know the stars once 
more, 
And be the sunlit haunts of birds, beasts, men, 

As in the immemorial days of yore. 

Thy vast and many-armed embrace includes 
The continents and isles — thine areas o'er 

Three parts of earth make watery solitudes, 

That stretch in misty plains from shore to shore. 

Here towers on Libya's marge the tropic palm ; 

Far off on northern beach the pine tree sighs ; 
Here sings thy surf on coral strands its psalm ; 

There lips an iron coast 'neath frowning skies. 



HERSCHEL'S STAR-CLUSTERS. 

DULSES of light, whose throbs began 
* Ere yet was human vision, 
Tidings ye bring to our young race 

Transcending all tradition. 
The Ether-sea of cosmic space 

Has rippled with your lustre 
Uncounted aeons, since you left 

Your dimly glimmering cluster ; 



246 H er scJieV s Star -Clusters. 

Lone messengers from times and skies, 

From ages and from regions, — 
Whose distance laughs to scorn the wings 

Of Milton's seraph legions. 
No weariness your flight has stayed 

Of million-yeared duration, 
With unimagined speed you 've reached 

Undimmed this earthly station, 

Piercing our night with lonely rays 

Of far-come, mystic splendor, 
Chaldean-like unto your sheen 

Our homage we must render. 
Armed with the lens our visual sense 

Responds to your vibrations. 
From depths of Cosmos though you come 

You stir no new sensations. 
You tell the bigots of our earth 

With radiance most persuasive 
That Force and Matter know no bounds, 

That Taw is all-pervasive. 

Through boundless space and boundless time 

That sternest order reigneth, 
And into one harmonious Whole 

Atoms and orbs constraineth, — 
Through galaxies of countless suns 

Drear space like gold-dust strowing ; 
Through nebulse, those clouds of worlds 

In starry strata glowing, — 



PJiantasmagoria. 247 

The same unwearied forces work 

And make whole systems blossom 
In stellar clusters like the flowers 

Upon our planet's bosom ; 
For nebulous vapors far away, 

On optic glasses looming, 
Are garden-beds of nascent worlds 

Like banks of violets blooming. 

O Force of forces, Heart of hearts 

In central mystery beating ; 
Though everywhere in star and clod, 

From eye of sense retreating ; — 
The forms that fade are still renewed ; 

The fire of life burns ever ; 
Thee from the glowing universe 

Nor time nor space can sever. 



PHANTASMAGORIA. 

SILENCE rustles as with snowflakes, 
Softly, softly, falling, falling, 
Ceaseless, endless, lonesome, dreary. 
Through the silence rise up faces, 
Slowly rise up and dilating 
As with heat of oven redden ; . 
Features fierce, exaggerated, 
Dreadful, menacing, and cruel 
Into grins Titanic breaking, 



248 Phantasmagoria. 

Vanish slowly as they rise up, 
In the distance fading, waning. 

Lions from the crags of Atlas 

With their shaggy, tawny tresses, 

With a stern regard gaze at you 

In familiar rooms and places 

Motionless in long rows standing ; 

And white elephants of Ava ! 

Follow in enorm procession 

With their trunks like serpents writhing. 

Audibly the silence rustles, 

Endless Parthenonian friezes, 

Amazons with lunar targes 

Empty from their steeds their quivers, 

With a thunderous hoof-beat charging. 

Browless idiot, brazen statue 

On its pedestal revolving 

In a vast cathedral stand eth, 

While with falchion drawn he shouteth, 

As a mighty hammer clanging 

Bangs the hours on silver anvil, 

In the solemn, glimmering midnight. 

See all round in mighty circle 
All suffused with crimson splendor 
Fairest dames on palfreys mounted, 
Clad in green with golden bugles. 
Fabled Glorianes, Alcinas, 
Cleopatras, Bella Donnas, 



A t the Grave of Hawthorne. 249 

Shapes of Titian and Murillo 
With an Andalusian peach-bloom. 
On their cheeks and lips like roses. 
May-winds stir their silken tresses ; 
Fountains sing with misty shimmer ; 
Beauty-burdened prance the palfreys, 
Till the witching pomp is conjured 
Sudden from the tranced vision. 



AT THE GRAVE OF HAWTHORNE. 

Every living man triumphs over every dead one, as he lies 
poor and helpless under the mould, a pinch of dust, a heap of 
bones, an evil odor ! I hate the thought ! It shall not be so. 
— Septimius Felton. 

\ EVEL with the clods which hide him 
*— ' Lies the stone that bears his name ; 
Here, then, found its gate of exit 
So much genius, so much fame. 

That imperial brow, which brooded 

So profoundly on man's lot, 
Mouldering and unsightly relic 

Hallows now this lonely spot. 

Lampless now the great eye-sockets 
Once so luminous with thought ; 

Stalwart frame and noble features 
Slow corruption brings to naught. 



250 At the Grave of Hazuthorne. 

Lives he in his volumes only, 

Or has dream of faith proved true, 

So that now his freed self roameth 
Fresher fields and pastures new ? 

Mystic, dreamer, self-communer, 
Lonely places loved he well, 

Where, himself unseen, he yielded 
To imagination's spell. 

Floating on his storied river 
Far away from town and tower 

'Neath the autumn's yellow leafage, 
Mused he many a lonely hour. 

Or in long, long days of summer 
Dreamed he, no intruder near, 

While the monotone of ocean, 
With its surf-beat, lulled his ear. 

At his potent evocation 

Dim past yielded up its dead. 

Live again upon his pages, 
Men and ages long since fled. 

Primitive races semi-human, 
Such as old Etruria bore, 

At the summons of his genius 

In their old haunts live once more. 



At the Grave of Hawthorne. 251 

Stern New England's son and poet, 

His her past is evermore ; 
He — her genius loci — haunteth 

Inland mountain, wave-swept shore. 

Great Carbuncle gleameth southward 

In the middle watch of night, 
O'er dark wastes of pine and hemlock 

Sends afar its mystic light. 

Waved his wand and Cromwell's warriors 

Hoar with age and exile stand 
Andros and his minions awing, 

With a gesture of command. 

Fount of Youth, time's furrows smoothing, 
In his weird tales makes he flow, 

Back their pristine beauty giving 
Withered belles of long ago. 

How the vast and silent night sky 

Over guilt he stretches grim, 
On its penal outlook standing 

'Neath the constellations dim ! 



How the weird, primeval forests, 
As they stood in days of yore, 

Demon haunted on his pages, 
Darkling wave for evermore. 



252 At the Grave of HazutJiorne. 

Poor and helpless seems the dead man 
In the dust abased full low, 

Whatso'er his fame or genius, 
Lethe's waters o'er him flow. 

Onward moves the world unpausing, 

Him — his era — leaves behind ; 
Newer names, ideals, fashions, 

Blot him from the current mind- 
Still if Hawthorne lives, no longer 

Is he thrall of fate and death, 
Somewhere in the universe he 

Draweth now immortal breath, 



In a nobler, grand hereafter, 
Where to their full stature grow 

Lofty natures who in earth-life 
Only exile, sadness know. 

Such continuance, haply, Hawthorne 
On a changeless strand has found ; 

Fain for him we dream such future 
Bending o'er his lowly mound. 

But than gorgeous mausoleum 
Is this pine-clad ridge more meet, 

Where the woods, he loved, low dirges 
In each breeze, that sighs, repeat. 



YOUTHFUL POEMS. 



253 






YOUTHFUL POEMS. 



TO MY WIFE. 
i. 

ERE thou wert seen, and ere I knew 
Such loveliness on earth unfolded, 

A morning dream revealed to view- 
That shape in perfect beauty moulded ; 

Around thy graceful waist, methought, 
The fabled Zone of Love was glowing, 

The cestus with enchantment fraught, 
A charm, that vanquished all, bestowing- 

The phantom fled, but evermore 
Until thyself I might discover, 

Its memory in my heart I bore, 
Of shade impalpable the lover. 

ii. 

When eastward thou wert long sojourning, 

From me divided and afar, 
Though sunset in the West was burning, 

I turned where shone my being's star ; 

255 



256 To My Wife. 

Beyond the woods, the village spires, 

Adown the broadly flowing river 
My glances winged by wild desires 

To pierce the distance, would endeavor ; 
Each bickering train which eastward rolled, 

Each trailing cloud that thither flew, 
As long as eyesight could behold, 

I followed, musing still of you ; — 



in. 



Of you, the magnet of my heart, 

The vision of my nightly slumber, 
Of all my thoughts the central part, 

And source of fancies without number. 
The stars are not more dear to Night, 

To scented winds the bursting blossom, 
To Day its floods of golden light, 

Than thou art, gentlest, to my bosom. 
The beauty of the North is thine, 

Its auburn tress, its eye of azure, 
Its rose-hued cheek, whose freshness Time 

Leaves blooming long without erasure. 



IV. 



Incarnate in thy graceful form, 
I see that sweet Gothean vision, 

That dream of beauty soft and warm, 
Which folded Faust in joy elysian. 

Though clouds disturb the blue serene, 
And storm and darkness round me lower, 



Inscription. 257 

Thy presence is a sunny gleam, 

A bow of promise 'mid the shower ; 

Though from me fortune fall away, 
By Hope itself disowned, forsaken, 

Whilst thou art spared by pale decay, 
I rest in peace, secure, unshaken. 



L 



INSCRIPTION. 

ITHE ivy, let thy gliding foliage shade 

This urn, where Shelley's sacred dust is laid, 
Whose fire was quenched beneath the angry sea, 
That laves the sunny shores of Italy ! 
The Elements did moan around his bier. 
In him they lost their best interpreter — 
For his most subtile, sympathizing frame 
Was as a sweet melodious instrument, 
Through all whose pores and million channels went 
The Universe into his heart and brain 
In musical influxes, that ebbed amain 
From out his lips, in verse of power to tame 
A tiger's heart, or suage an angel's pain. 
Through his well-jointed reeds the circling gyres 
Of planets poured in song their soft desires, 
And glad ovations, while their vernal dreams 
The leaves did whisper, and the clouds and streams 
And winds their fluent exultations pour, 
With sky-pavilioned ocean's organ-roar. 



258 The Teutonic Minstrel's Tomb. 



THE TEUTONIC MINSTREL'S TOMB. 

FAR north they say there lies a wizard land, 
Which has above it all the changeless year 
A silver-shining, milk-warm atmosphere, 
Amid whose windless calm the forests stand 
As still as clustered obelisks. A bland 
Delight is shed o'er all who enter here ; 
And by a lonely path their way they steer 
Through dreamy hollows, under forests grand 
Of larch and fir, round many a placid mere, 
O'er silver streams and level barrens drear. 
At length they come unto a mossy gate, 
And find within a city desolate ; 
Its streets knee-deep with yellow leaves are strown, 
And stiller than the Ephesian Sleeper's cave. 
The watchman's horn at midnight lies unblown, — 
The ivy-mufned bells hang dumb, and save 
The noise of summer flies, sound there is none. 
Wide open stands the Kaiser's palace door, 
And here and there, upon the dusty floor, 
Swords, helms, and spears, and empty wine-cups lie 
Between whose golden lips black spiders ply 
Their filmy looms in bright security. 
Within this city, reared by Elfin hands, 
A huge and mouldering mausoleum stands. 
These words are graved upon its portals gray, — 
The Singer of the Nibetungen Lay. 



To W. P. R, 259 



INVOCATION. 



O PLACID Death ! O lotos-circled king ! 
Parent of rest and endless slumbering ! 
With downy-sandalled pace approach me now, 
And bathe my lips and palpitating brow 
From flagons full of cool Lethean spray, 
For I am weary of the light of day. 
Or call to Sleep, thy mild dejected twin, 
And when the rosy-fingered Morn shall rise, 
Will ye aloft upon the healthy wind, 
That blows from out her dewy balconies, 
Waft me to those calm isles, whose tribes obey 
Sky-fallen Saturn's ever peaceful sway ! 



TO W. P. R. 



T 



HE links of amity that bind 
Our souls together evermore, 
Are forged as strong as those that joined 
The brave and beautiful of yore. 



Though many a valley-darkening hill 
■ And ocean billow may divide, 
My heart retains thine image still, 

Through every change of time and tide. 



2<5o To W. P. R. 

Though lapsing years are friendship's bane, 
And absence brings forgetfulness, 

Yet these exert their might in vain, 
They cannot make our love the less. 

Across the billows of the sea, 

Where rolls the legend-haunted river, 

My dreaming spirit flies to thee, 

Like arrow drawn from Phoebus' quiver. 

About thy hearth-stone, dim and cold, 
Forsaken Lares droop and moan ; 

They miss the faces, that of old 

Within their joyous precincts shone. 

Full soon the halls of Dis shall hide 
Both thee and me and all we love, 

For, bubbles on a rushing tide, 
Our evanescent beings move. 

While yet the stars above us shine, 
And youth and hope and love remain, 

O pilgrim, seek thy natal clime, 

And glad my heart and eyes again ! 



Monody of the Countess of Ncttlestcde. 26: 



MONODY OF THE COUNTESS OF 
NETTLESTEDE. 

f\ VERNAL sun, how cold thy beams to me ! 

^-^ Since they can never more illume 

His face, my heart's idolatry, 

That now, alas ! immersed in urnal gloom, 

Far, far below thy golden glances lies, 

Wrapt from these yearning arms and weeping eyes ! 

In vain for me, sweet flowers, ye reassume 

Your vestments rare of oriental dyes ; 

Your subtle fragrance and your glorious # bloom 

But call to mind a sweeter far than you — 

My Prince and Lord, My Beautiful and True, 

Whose cheek was burnished with as bright a hue 

As decks your leaves, whose eyes were wont to 

shine 
Upon my glowing face like stars benign. 
Again I hear the South wind's murmurs low 
Making the earth with life and beauty glow, 
But now more icy than the Sarsar's breath, 
In deserts old the minister of death, 
Around my worn and wasted frame it sighs, 
Recalling soft Elysian memories. 



262 Monody of the Countess of Ncttlestede. 

How oft engraven in the oaken rind, 

My hapless name with his I see entwined. 

Dear hand, that carved these love knots, 'neath the 

mould 
Thou now, alas ! art shrunken, pulseless, cold ! 
And has he left the world forevermore, 
That still contains his ill-starred paramour ? 
Oh, woe is me ! O sickening, keen distress ! 
O solemn, strange, and mighty loneliness ! 
That makes to issue from my riven breast 
Sob after sob of anguish unrepressed 
And irrepressible, till, nerveless down, 
My cold limbs sink upon the sun-warm ground. — 
Thence lip aloft I gaze with yearning eyes 
Into the vast and azure- flowing skies, 
Far, far beyond whose airy curtains stand 
The many mansions of the angel land. 
There, girt with seraphs sits the mother mild, 
And there in glory reigns her sinless child. 
O Holy One ! Thy countenance benign 
Unto thy weary worshipper incline ! 
My lonely spirit quickly call away 
From earth, and its pale tenement of clay ! 
The sunlit hills, woods, vales, and waters clear, 
And home and household faces once so dear — 
All these fair sights since his departure seem 
Mournful and strange, — a vision and a dream. 
O Saviour merciful ! whate'er his fate 
Beyond the grave, let me participate. 
If garmented in light, he walks serene 
By thy still waters, through thy pastures green, 



Monody of the Countess of Nettlcstede. 263 

My soul make pure so long by sin denied, 

And, raised to heaven, acknowledge me thy child ! 

But if, Erinnys-like, the bloody Doom, 

That here on earth pursued him to the tomb, 

Lured by his sins relentless pass beyond, 

And hunt him to the gulfs of woe profound, 

Together let our erring sprites be hurled 

Afar into some sad autumnal world — 

Some land of withered leaves and sighing winds, 

Where twined in one we may bewail our sins ! 

Father in Heaven, forgive this impious prayer ! 

Thou know'st it rises from my deep despair, 

Be merciful unto my wretched state — 

Indeed, indeed, I am unfortunate ! 

Far, far from me the loved one buried lies — 

His sepulchre unknown to these dim eyes — 

In that sad chapel, whose dark aisles contain 

Full many a haughty heart and guilty brain, 

Beauty and strength resolved to dust again. 

There languish now henceforth in dull decay 

Those eyes, that glistened with a star-like ray. 

From his blanched lip and cheek forevermore 

Fades the fresh rose which blossomed there before. 

Gory and dank, bereft of all their grace 

His tresses hang about his marble face — 

Not as of old, when flowing unconfined, 

Their odors wooed the amorous summer wind. 

Livid and blue those beauteous lips, whose kiss, 

The seal of love, imparted perfect bliss. 

The rosy twilights and the moons of May, 

Beneath whose beams we loved the hours away, 



264 Lucifer Redux. 

Are gone — and gone the ruddy ember-gloom, 
That filled with lurid light our silent room, 
When o'er our hall the wintry tempest flew, 
And love our yearning hearts together drew. 
My stay, my life, my hope, my star is gone — 
And I am left in sorrow and alone ; 
The oak is stricken from the vine's embrace, 
And on the earth its tendrils run to waste ! 



LUCIFER REDUX. 

ORINCE of the fallen stars, 
* Thy front shall lose its scars ! 
The fires shall cease to burn, 
Thy legions shall return ! 

A ray shall pierce the gloom, 
A voice dissolve the doom ; 
The victor shall relent, 
The brazen chains be rent ! 

The demon's crown of woe 
No more shall gird thy brow ; 
The fires shall cease to burn, 
Thy legions shall return. 

The dark pavilions spread 
Within thy kingdom dread ; 
The palaces of pain, 
Like dreams, shall melt and wane. 



Lucifer Redux. 265 

And Heaven's flag unrolled, 
Again thy helm enfold ; 
The fires shall cease to burn, 
Thy legions shall return ! 

The mystic feud shall end, 
Thy willing knees shall bend ; 
Once more the central throne 
Thine homage bright shall own. 

In Heaven thy starred domain 
Shall greet its chief again ; 
The fires shall cease to burn, 
Thy legions shall return ! 

Thine ancient halls of state, 

So long left desolate, 

Shall ring with joy once more, 

Shall bloom with wreath and flower. 

The constellations bright, 
The sentinels of night, 
Around thy steps shall chant 
A paean jubilant. 

The wheels that o'er thee drove, 
The sword thy mail that clove, 
Shall lead thy glad return, 
Before thy march shall burn ! 



266 Ansaldcts Garden. 



ANSALDO'S GARDEN. 

BEAUTIFUL the hearts that beat 
'Neath the frosts of age, 
Still with fervent, youthful heat, 
Tempered in its rage. 

Teian-like, they laugh and sing, 
Though the shadows gather ; 

For they feel the warmth of spring 
In the wintry weather. 

Minstrels 'neath the snows of time 

Feel their bosoms glowing, 
With a fervor as sublime 

As when flowers were blowing 

Like to tomb-lamps' beams, that spread 

Lustre round decay, 
To the last their hearts will shed 

Sunlike halos, fancies gay. 

Thus Ansaldo's garden bloomed, 

June in January set, 
While the frosty stars illumed 

Orange leaf and mignonette. 



To Rufus Choate. 267 



TO RUFUS CHOATE. 



THOU mortal Belial ! thee I name 
The mightiest sophist known to fame. 
In the old Hellenic isles, 
Rich in rhetoric's winning wiles, 
'Mongst their most persuasive dead, 
None like thee was ever bred ; 
E'en the Ithacensian's lips 
Thou couldst cast into eclipse ; 
Nor serpent's eye, nor siren's lute, 
Nor Coptic Lotos* magic fruit, 
Could bewilder and entrance, 
Like thy honied utterance. 



Shadowed thick with jetty hair 
Flowing like acanthus fair 
Over pillared capital, 
Towers aloft thy kingly brow ; 
While from sunken eyes below 
Gleams a fiery southern glance, 
Keener far than keenest lance. 

in. 

These, with that Ionic form, 
And Asiatic fancy warm, 
Assembled and conjoined in one, 
Make the Forum's paragon ! 



268 To the Cricket. 



TO THE CRICKET. 

FLOURISHES in song i mmor tal 
1 The Cicada famed of old ; 
On the brows of Attic women 
Was its likeness worn in gold. 

But, my Cricket ! none have praised thee, 

Insect full of dulcet mirth ! 
Singing in the August moonlight, 

Minstrel of the country hearth ! 

Sharded rhapsodist of Autumn, 
When the year begins to wane, 

In the grass and in the hedges 
Trillest thou thy wiry strain. 

Harp with clasps of ivory strengthened, 

Unto thee does not belong ; 
Thine own body is a cithern, 

Its pulsations make thy song. 

In the midnight weird and holy, 
When the moon is in eclipse, 

Feedest thou on leaves of moly — 
Honeydew-drops steep thy lips. 



Departing Summer. 269 



DEPARTING SUMMER. 

'IVTEATH the rainy Equinox, 
* ^ Flooding her dishevelled locks, 
Lies the Summer dead and cold, 
With her shroud about her rolled, 
Like the drowned Ophelia fair, 
Dripping from the oozy mere ; 
O'er her bleaching corse complain 
Sighing winds and chilling rain. 

Withered fillets, garlands sere, 
Bind her brow and deck her bier — 
Urnlike lilies, violets frail, 
Faded blossoms of the vale, 
Thickly strew her loosened hair. 

Sorrowing o'er his daughter fair, 
Sadly bends the stricken Year, 
To her lips applies his ear ; 
For the voice which long ago 
Cheered him with its music low, 
Hearkens he, and for the smile 
Wont his dotage to beguile, 
Lifts her drooping lids in vain, — 
She will never smile again. 

Ravished from their mistress pale, 
Fly her tresses on the gale ; 



270 Departing Summer. 

Driving North winds pipe and rave 
Threnodies about her grave. 
Bird and leaf forsake the tree — 
Sinks to rest the yellow bee ; 
All his labors in the sun, 
All his airy voyages done ; 
While the squirrel gathers fast 
Largess of the bough and blast. 



HELLENICS. 



HELLENICS. 



HELLAS. 

FAR up the vistas of the past she stands, 
The glorious Hellas, mid her vine-clad isles. 
The sword and epic lyre are in her hands, 
Wherewith the tribes of men she still beguiles. 

Behind her, long-drawn serried columns gleam 
Uplifting strength and beauty richly wrought, 

While marble altars waft a fragrant steam 

Of Orient myrrh from lands of morning brought. 

The volumed vapors roll in light away 

O'er isle-sown sea and temple-crested shore, 

While oread-haunted in her summer's ray, 
Her thymy mountains tower for evermore. 

Thus stands she ever to the inner eye 

With hero's falchion and with poet's shell, 

Shedding adown the ages 'neath each sky 
The potent effluence of her wizard spell. 

273 



2 74 The Greek. 



THE GREEK. 



Al\ EASURE and proportion speak 
* * * In all fabrics of the Greek. 
In his most impassioned glow 

Loyal still to reason he ; 

Bounds of fitness, harmony, 
Careful not to overflow. 

Of good sense anointed priest 
Spurned he the delirious East ; 
Epic, lyric, temple chaste 
Charm ear and eye with faultless taste, 
Eschewing outlines vague and dim, 
Method, not madness, guided him. 

From Babels, cavern-temples far, 
Dwelt he 'neath the Evening Star ; 
His shrines of marble, chiselled gems 
Forelands crowned like diadems 
Chastely, soberly, he wrought, 
Master of reflective thought ; 
Sane in body, sane in mind, 
Breathing the ^Egean wind, 
Saltness of his loved sea-wave 
To his wit sharp flavor gave ; 
Beauty was his constant norm — 
Hated he all things deform — 



The Ionian Greek. 275 

Vagueness and unoutlined haze 
Vanished in Apollo's rays. 
In his Sea's clear hyaline 
Crags of purple mirrored shine ; 
In each fibre human he 
Spurned the East's hyperbole. 
His very gods — immortal men — 
Dwelt within their votaries' ken. 
Scent of bee-browsed mountain thyme 
Do his verses sweet exhale. 
Clearness of his lucid clime 
In his thought did never fail. 



THE IONIAN GREEK* 

TAVAN, Ion or Iouni, 
^ Thus the tribes Semitic called him, 
Dwelt upon the isles and coastlands, 
At the mouths of famous rivers. 

Inland pined he for the breezes, 
For the briny scent and sparkle 
Of his azure, loved Thalatta, 
Of his tideless, midland ocean — 



* The Ionian Greek is called in the Bible Javan. By the 
Persians and Egyptians he was known as Iouni. Hating 
priesthoods and monarchies, he was everywhere at war with 
the spirit of Asia. The modern world, with its arts, sciences, 
trade, rationalism, restless spirit of inquiry and democracy, is 
thoroughly Ionian. 
17 



2j6 The Ionian Greek. 

With its misty vague horizon, 
Opening unobstructed pathways 
To remotest, unknown regions, 
Climes of marvel and adventure. 

Temple-crested were his cities, 
Crowned with fanes on high crags seated, 
With their rows of marble pillars, 
Serried Propylaean columns, 
Far off 'gainst the blue sky gleaming, 
And their tutelary daimons, 
Powers of earth and sea and ether, 
On their bulwarks standing lordly, 
Panoplied in sunbright armor, 
Giant-limbed, erect and haughty, 
With defiance for the foeman. 

Javan's form was lithe and noble, 

Suppled by palaestric conflict 

And heroic games to manhood 

Of the finest, firmest fibre ; 

And his speech like music sounded ; 

And his eyes were dark and lustrous ; 

Lightning-like with flashing glances ; 

And his brain with thought was teeming, - 

Fiery, subtle, nimble-witted, 

Darkest problems swiftly clearing ; 

And his quickly-stirred emotions 

To the world of sense responding, 

Like an aspen to the zephyr ; 

Vibrant, tremulous all over, 



The Ionian Greek. 277 

Gushed in sweetest lyric numbers ; 
While the dactyl and the spondee 
Of his glowing epic rhapsode 
Rolled and swelled like summer ocean 
In melodious surf-beat pulsing 
On the gleamy crags and forelands. 

Hither, thither Javan roaming 

Gazed upon the outer nations, 

Heard their raucous, dissonant jargons, 

Saw their tents and noisome dwellings, 

Caverns, holes and wagon-houses 

And their idols blood-bespattered, 

Blood of slaughtered, shipwrecked strangers ; 

Curled his lips with scorn and loathing, 

With disdain his nostrils quivered, 

As with haughty glance he eyed them. 

Barbaroi the word he uttered 

Henceforth to the rabble races, 

Low-browed, prognathous and brutish, 

Like their skins to cling forever. 

Other sailors were before him 
On the inner, outer ocean 
Hunting for the royal purple, — 
But the Ionian quick outsailed them, 
With his lighter, trimmer galleys, 
Drove them from each mart and haven, 
With his finer wares and fabrics, 
Oil and purple island vintage ; 
Founded nobler, fairer cities, 



2 7& The Ionian Greek. 

O'er their shapeless, wandering Melkarth 

Reared his ever-young Apollo, 

Radiant, musical, far-shining. 

And the Scyth his fleeces brought him 

Soaked in golden-sanded rivers, 

Till with precious ore they sparkled ; 

And the Teuton brought his amber 

Vomited by Baltic surges ; 

And the Libyan his ivory, 

Gold dust, spices, gorgeous feathers ; 

And the Celt his tin like silver, 

To the beach to trade and barter 

With the keen Ionian skipper 

For nick-nacks from isles of Javan. 

Beauteous youth, on dolphin riding 

O'er the sparkling briny billows, 

With a lyre and Tripod laden, 

Was the emblem of the Ionian 

To the outer, ruder races. 

With his lyre he witched and tamed them ; 

On his Tripod throned and seated, 

With prophetic breath he guided 

Kings, republics, as he listed. 

In his Agora discussion 
First its ringing voice uplifted 
Terrorizing kings and tyrants. 
Politics were his invention ; 
Civic freedom's primal impulse 
He imparted to the nations 



The Ionian Greek. 279 

Foremost democrat and modern. 

From the loins of old Phocaea 

Sprang Marseilles, where rang the paean, 

Rang the battle-chant melodious 

Of old Demos re-arisen, 

Into flame the nations kindling. 

Thus the Ionian, not the Hebrew, 

Was the moulder of the present, 

Blind belief, tradition spurning 

He investigated nature, 

With an eye by reason guided. 

In his radiant, marble cities, 
With their theatres hypaethric, 
Schools and courts and free assemblies ; 
With their arsenals and dockyards, 
Merchants, artists, politicians, 
Sophists, parasites and rhetors, 
Strangers, idlers, schemers, quidnuncs ; 
With their barber-shops and Leschae,* 
Bubbling with the latest scandal — 
Rolled the current of existence, 
Sparkling, hurried, foaming, rushing, 
As to-day it rolls and rushes 
In the cities of the present. 



In German, Conversations-haus . 



28o Niobe. 



MYTHS FROM HOMER. 



NIOBE. 
[Iliad, Twenty-fourth Book.] 



TN stanchless tears, lone Niobe 
* Among the Phrygian hills, 
With forehead bowed upon her knee, 

Her marble heart distils 
For those fair daughters of her pride, 

By Dian's arrows slain, 
Whose clustered beauty hers outvied, 

And showed their starry strain ; 
For those six sons of stateliest mien, 

Whom shafts of Phoebus slew — 
So fast around the hapless queen 

The immortal arrows flew 
From vengeful quivers ; there she stood, 

Transfixed in voiceless woe ; 
Around her all her glorious brood 

Like flowers of spring laid low. 

ii. 

Nine days they mouldered where they fell- 
To bury them was none ; 



Niobe. 281 

For Zeus had, with petrific spell, 

The people turned to stone. 
Descending then from thrones of air 

The Sons of Ether came, 
And, pitying, made the dead their care, 

And lit the funeral flame. 



in. 

Thus, while her children were inurned, 

The mother's lips no moan 
Escaped ; then Zeus in mercy turned 

Her also into stone. 
And still in Sipylus, they say, 

Among the lonely hills, 
In tears, which time can ne'er allay, 

Her marble heart distils. 

NOTE ON NIOBE. 

The lines entitled " Niobe " are a translation in part of the 
beautiful account of that famous mythical queen, which Homer, 
in the 24th book of the Iliad, puts into the mouth of Achilles 
while conversing with his guest, the aged Priamus. If the 
Greek legend of Niobe had never given birth to anything else 
in literature or art than Byron's apostrophe to Rome in 
"Childe Harold"— 

4< The Niobe of nations ! there she stands 

Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe, 
An empty urn within her withered hands, 
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago " — 

it would deserve the immortality which keeps it forever memo- 
rable. It seems that the myth of Niobe originated from a 



282 Mode. 

freak of nature still visible among the Phrygian mountains of 
Lesser Asia. Dr. Ernst Curtius, the latest and best historian 
of primitive Greece, whose intimate acquaintance with the 
physical geography of the regions which composed the old 
Hellenic world makes him such a luminous expositor of 
Grecian legend and history, says in his " History of Greece" 
(vol. i., page 81, of the English translation republished in this 
country) : "As a documentary reminiscence of the myths 
proper to these regions (between the valley of the Hermus and 
the bay of Smyrna), there gleams even at the present day, at 
two hours' distance from the ancient Magnesia, in the sunken 
depth of rock, the sitting form of a woman, bending forward in 
her grief, over whom the water drops and flows ceaselessly. 
This is Niobe, the mother of the Phrygian mountains, who 
saw her happy offspring, the rivulets, till they were carried 
away (evaporated) by the dry heat of the sun." Another 
writer says the Niobe on Mt. Sipylus, which is mentioned in 
the Iliad, is a rude effigy in the valley of the Hermus, near 
Magnesia. A correspondent of a London journal, who visited 
this valley several years ago, and climbed up the heights to 
make a sketch of Niobe, is confident that the figure is the 
result of human labor, and not caused by the hand of nature. 
Some of the fingers can still be traced, but not a feature of the 
face can be distinguished. The effigy is in a sitting position, 
with the rude representation of a chair. The figure seems to 
have been well known to the great Greek writers — to Sophocles 
and Callimachus, for instance, the former of whom gives a 
beautiful poetical description of it in his tragedy of Antigone. 
Apropos of this figure, one wonders what immortal myth the 
ancient Greek imagination would have made to blossom from 
such a freak of nature as the old stone face on Profile 
Mountain. 



The Cranes. 283 



THE CRANES. 
[Iliad, Third Book.] 

FUGITIVES from wintry weather, 
Gusts that rave and flooding rains, 
Low in air, with raucous clamor, 

Fly in files the migrant cranes ; 
Fly they southward to the margin 

Of the ocean-river ; 
Speed to Pygmy land, where beameth 
Summer's sheen forever. 

There the swart men, sunburnt, blameless, 

In their festive portals 
Yearly spread for Zeus the banquet — 

Zeus and his immortals. 
Past them feasting, deep and mighty, 

Rolls the ocean streaming ; 
Far away their halls ambrosial, 

Golden mansions gleaming. 

Hebe poureth not the nectar, 

Lonely Hera sleepeth, 
And the Muses' choir deserted, 

Silent, songless keepeth 
Till the twelve days' feast is over, 

When the gods, returning, 
Leave the Earth's far southern border 

For Olympus yearning. 



284 The Muses. 



THE MUSES. 
[Iliad, First Book.] 

""THROUGH all the long, Olympian day 
* In Homer's verse they sing for aye, 
Jove's nine unwedded daughters fair, 
With golden fillets round their hair. 

Aloof from sound of earthly moan, 
With measured step and measured tone, 
The hearts of gods they made to glow, 
While earth and ocean stretched below, 

In storm and shine, their festal joy, 
And lyre-god's spell and nectar's flow 

O'er sorrow, pain and death upbuoy. 

Polymnia, immortal legends told, 

Rose-crowned, with ringing harp of gold. 

Diviner minds to sons of song 

She gave than stirred the common throng ; 

To them imparting mystic lore, 

Great deeds and men of days of yore. 

With rapt and starward lifted eye 
Urania pored upon the sky, 
While Clio kept on scrolls sublime 
The register of vanished time. 



The Muses. 285 

In groves and glens bards prayed to thee 
To teach them secret of the spell 
Which hovered round thy golden shell, 
O lyric maid, Melpomene ! 

The festal sisters all the time 
Held not Olympian heights sublime. 
When spread ambrosial night its shade, 
To mortals oft descents they made. 

To Hesiod, dreaming 'mong his flocks, 
With winged and noiseless steps they came, 

Illumining Bceotia's rocks. 

Amid the dewy darkness lone 

Their voices rose in choral hymn, 

While awed earth echoed every tone ; 
The awakened poet caught the flame 

Of song thus in the midnight dim. 

Keeping unsoiled their sandals bright, 
To their eternal homestead then 
From earth, lowlying haunt of men, 

The Muses soared with buoyant flight. 

The Olympian revel rang again 
With voices in alternate strain ; 
Bloomed Hebe's brow with violets bound, 
While nectared goblets circled round, 
And swept his chords the bright day long, 
The golden-shafted King of Song.* 



* Apollo Musagetes, the leader of the choir of the Muses, 
whose statue may be seen in most Art Museums. 



286 Homer s Anthropomorphism. 



HOMER'S ANTHROPOMORPHISM. 

A LL things were, in world of Homer, 
**■ Conscious, purposive, like man : 
Notion of insentient nature 

In a later age began. 
Blue sky was a giant godhead 

With ambrosial, beamy hair : 
Earth, all-bearing, flower-tressed mother, 

Lay beneath him green and fair. 

Ocean was a hoary father 

With his blue arms stretching wide 

To receive the streams and rivers, 

As they to his bosom glide. 
'Neath the rough bark of the forests 

Lovely Dryads darkling dwelt ; 
Oft for mortal youths emotions 

Sweet of love and longing felt. 

Pouted coral lips of Naiads 

Up through fountains and through streams ; 
Oreads swift through glade and forest 

Flitting seemed the lunar beams. 
Striding o'er the mountain ridges 

Quivered maid and huntress bright, 
Roamed the Moon, with silver arrows 

Putting stags and boars to flight. 



Homer s Anthropomorphism. 287 

Winds and beams and swaying branches 

And the cascade's fitful sound 
Mythic fancy deemed the noise of 

Shouting nymph and baying hound. 
O'er the urns of famous rivers 

Manlike figures pensive hung 
Far aloof in mountain caverns, 

While to light their waters sprung. 

Had each lonely isle of ocean 

Genius loci, damsel fair 
Spell-bound mortal voyagers keeping, 

Whom the wild waves landed there. 
In the morning-red dwelt Eos, 

Who the dewy dawn-light gave ; 
'Mid a cloud of roses drove she 

From the ocean's orient wave : 

Phosphor sparkled bright before her, 
While the wind of morning blew ; 

Turned to pearls on flower and grass-blade 
At her coming midnight's dew. 
***** 

Nought of our insentient forces 

Primitive poet, Homer, knew, — 
Saw he will behind each movement 

Which his eager vision drew, 
Knew he not the earth which bore him 

Was a flying ship of space, 
Tender of a mighty orb, which kindled 

Air to brightness with its rays. 



288 Homer s AntJiropomorpJiism. 

He in terms of will and feeling 

Sang of all things which he saw ; 
Countless gods beheld he swaying 

Earth and man by whim, not law ; 
Fair humanities enthroned he 

Over mountains, vales, and streams ; 
Skyey archer's golden arrows 

Deemed he roseate morning's beams. 

Dewdrops as of dawn eternal 

On the myths of Homer lie : 
Back from age of science, reason, 

To his fable-world we fly ; 
In his beauteous dreams, illusions 

Bathe as in some fount of youth ; 
Gladly barter for their freshness 

All the trophies won by Truth. 

But to Homer, too, did conscience 

Teach the lore of right and wrong. 
Dictates of the higher reason 

Dominate his epic song : 
E'en his gods, like men, a higher 

Power than their own wills did own, 
Not in terms of mortal nature 

To be imaged or made known. 



Homeric Cremation. 289 



HOMERIC CREMATION. 

\\ /HEN, mid battles' din of yore, 

Hero, gashed with wounds, might fall, 
Mourning comrades would implore 
^Eolus in breezy hall. 

Heard the Lord of Winds their prayer — 
Sent his blustering vassals forth, 

Tempesting the sea and air — 
Zephyr, Eurus, chilling North. 

• 

Swelled the roused sea 'neath their breath, 

Hurried clouds along the sky, 
Till upon the scene of death 

Stooped they from their pathway high, 

Where, upon his lofty pyre, 

Smeared with balsams, lay the dead ; 
Crackled at their breath the fire, 

Resinous odors flashing shed. 



Drenched with wine was all the ground, 
In ungrudged libations poured, 

Invocations sad resound, 

All day long the fierce flames roared — 



290 Mount Ida, To-Day. 

Till, exhaled in azure air, 

Features, form, had vanished quite, 
Leaving as residuum there 

Only bones and ashes white. 

Urned in brass, with cairn o'erpiled, 
These in earth with tears were laid 

Naught corruption there defiled — 
Found thus rest the hero's shade. 

Thus the corse in history's morn 
Festered not in dull decay, 

But, on wings of flame upborne, 
Into pure air passed away. 



MOUNT IDA, TO-DAY. 

[Suggested by a graphic sketch of an ascent of the old 
Homeric mountain by a party of young Americans.] 

DINGS in gorges of Mount Ida 

* ^ Woodman's keen axe as of yore — 

Down its steep ravines the torrents 

Swelled by rains of autumn pour, 
While its dark-boughed pines 'neath scourges 

Of wild Thracian Boreas roar. 
As with many folds and fountains 

High its billowy ridges soar 
Upward, upward, till its summit 

Looketh wide earth o'er and o'er. 



Mount Ida, To-Day. 291 

Thither through the blue air rolling 

Mount the mists the sea exhales — 
Shape of vanished god and goddess 

Takes each light wreath, as it sails, 
Till upon the far peak resting, 

Steeped in azure sky-hues bright, 
Seem they gods once more assembled, 

Hera, Zeus, and Aphrodite. 

Gone, old Mount, are Jove and Homer, 

And (Enone, lovelorn, fair, 
While for gods our eyes mistake not 

Cloud-shapes climbing summer air. 
Meet we not in glade and thicket, 

As we up thy sides aspire, 
Venus, as young Paris met her, 

When she thrilled him with desire. 

Disenchanted is our vision — 

Vainly strive we to behold 
Gods and Nymphs of air and river, 

Such as Homer saw of old ; 
These are vanished, but thy vast bulk 

Pine-clad soareth grandly still, 
As with deafening din thy torrents 

Ears of climbing tourists fill. 

When upon thy bare crest stand they 
Boundless views their eyes enchant, 

All the Troad, Chios, Lesbos, 
Fairest isles of the Levant, 



'92 Mount Ida, To-Day. 

Plain of Ilios, as it lay when 

Thee his watchtower high Jove made, 
Gazing on Achaians, Trojans 

There in conflict fierce arrayed, — 

Curtained with thick air caressed he 

Here on thy southmost height ; 
Broke thy hard cliffs into blossom, 

Hyacinth and crocus bright, 
Couch of flowers swift improvising 

For the Thunderer in his need, 
Where to love and slumber yielding 

Saw he not his Trojans bleed, 

Double-fountained, famed Skamandros, 

From thy caverned base still leapeth 
And with din of rushing water 

Loud its flowery precinct keepeth. 
Still the crocus, mosses, grasses 

Wet are with its flying spray, — 
Round the cradle of the river 

Cascades foam and swift springs play. 

But the tanks of stone, where washed their 

Shining garments Troja's daughters 
In the days of peace, no longer 

Brimmed are with Skamander's waters. 
Save for Nature's pleasant noises 

All is peaceful, silent, lone, 
Here where life once pulsed so fiercely 

In the misty foretime flown. 



The Shield of Achilles. 293 

But great Ida's crest at sunset 

Rose-hued, lovely shines afar, 
And anear it bright as ever 

Flames the torch of evening's star. 
Woods and streams have quite forgotten 

Naiads, fauns they knew of yore — 
Troy was but a fleeting shadow, 

Nature fresh is evermore. 



THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 

HPHE constellations rise and set 
*■ In Homer's mighty line, 
And through the rifted clouds of war 

The harvest-moon doth shine. 
On clustering grapes and golden sheaves 

Soft rain its mellow rays, 
While through the festal city's streets 

The nuptial torches blaze. 

In Homer's world not all the air 

With trumpet-notes is stirred ; 
Soft undertones of pastoral pipes 

In contrast sweet are heard. 
Pictures of peaceful life are strown 

His Ilian war-song o'er — 
Hoarded in memory's golden urn, 

Gathered from sea and shore. 



294 The Shield of A chilles. 

All sights and sounds of earth and sky 

Were garnered in his brain ; 
The life of the heroic world 

Lives ever in his strain. 
As if in irony, the shield 

The Phthian hero bore 
With georgic, pastoral images 

Was thickly graven o'er. 

There, wrought in gold, Ionia's heaven 

With mimic splendor shone ; 
The Pleiads, Hyads — all the stars 

To Grecian vision known. 
The furrow darkens, though of gold, 

The ploughman's tread behind ; 
The ripened cornfields' yellow ears 

Roll billowing in the wind. 

Blithely the vintage figures move 

With dancing steps along, 
Their voices, limbs, responsive to 

The pipe and vintage song. 
With many a furtive, sweet caress, 

The youths and maidens glide 
'Neath osier baskets, cluster-piled, 

Oozing a purple tide. 

Through the dance of Ariadne 

In swift revolving whirls, 
Fly the youths with daggers gleaming, 

And glossy vested girls. 



The Shield of Achilles. 295 

Haply through its daedal mazes 

The bard himself had wound, 
In moonlit Gnossus, by the spell 

Of Cretan beauty bound. 

Long ere he rolled his orbs in vain 

And found not earth or sky, 
While yet sea, isle, and continent 

Vibrated through his eye ; 
Hanging his soul's ideal hall 

With pictures ne'er to fade, 
In visioned years of darkness on 

Eternal canvas laid. 

The very clime of loveliness 

And beauty's native air, 
Ionia trained her poet's soul 

To love of all things fair. 
Soft Aphrodite from the foam 

Of neighboring Cyprian seas 
Rose radiant, near his island home, 

Filling with charm the breeze. 

Spell-like, the glorious nature wrought 

Upon his heart and brain, 
That round his island-cradle glowed 

In earth and sky and main. 
No moods nor phases that she wore 

Could 'scape his youthful eye ; 
Whispered no breeze, no tempest raved, 

That passed unheeded by. 



296 The Shield of Achilles. 

The whole wide earth in miniature 

Was that ^Egean world ; 
In it the palm and citron grew, 

The Thracian snow-blast whirled. 
The nurse of genius it bestowed 

Variety of mood, 
Touching the spirit's mystic keys 

With hand now soft, now rude. 

Bucolic similes his love 

Of rustic life make plain ; 
Evening he calls the time the ox 

Is loosened from the wain. 
Over the ploughland yielding corn, 

The veil of dusky night 
By Helios at eve is drawn, 

When ocean hides his light. 

The chaff-clouds wafted on the wind 

From grain-piled threshing-floor 
He pictures, when, with battle-dust, 

His hosts are whitened o'er. 
Image a swarming crowd the flies 

Round milking-pails in spring ; 
From pastures, sheep-cotes, herdsmen's huts 

His similies he brings, 

From solitudes of mountain-glades 

With shepherds' fires aglow, 
Which, far to sea, a lonely gleam 

Through night and tempest throw ; 



The Shield of Achilles. n ~W 

Storm-driven o'er the fishy deep 

The sailor sees them blaze ; 
Helpless towards the wished-for shore 

He casts a wistful gaze. 

Beneath an oak his farmer stands 

The reapers to survey 
Watching the sheaves that thickly fall, 

A king of rural sway. 
Heralds prepare the rustic feast, 

The bounteous harvest-cheer, 
Unto the wheaten mother pay 

The homage of the year. 

Thus o'er a song of clashing shields, 

Wherein our human life 
Is painted as a struggle fierce — 

A hell of warring strife — 
Sweet rural images are strewn 

Amid the wild turmoil, 
As stars that calmly shine, though seas 

Storm-vexed beneath them boil. 

The smithy of the artist- god 

Who wrought the wondrous buckler gleamed 
With common forge-fire, and his brow 

With sweat, like man's while toiling, stream'd. 
With pincers, bellows, anvil, sledge, 

His miracles he wrought — 
Handmaids of grid, articulate, 

Self-moved, endowed with thought, 



298 To Ionia. 

To prop his halting gait whene'er 

Such guest as Thetis came. 
Sponging his brawn he hushed at once 

His smithy's roaring flame, 
His anvil's clang, his implements 

In chest of silver laid, 
In robe of state stalked to his throne 

By golden shoulders stayed. 

Willing his art in her behalf 

With utmost skill to ply, 
Grateful for refuge when he fell, 

Hurled headlong from the sky, 
In Thetis' grot where ocean's stream 

Ran murmuring with foam, 
From Here's wrath he covert found, 

A dimly gleaming home. 
Safe in her shielding bosom hid 

The artist child-god wrought, 
Nine years, his necklaces and clasps, 

With daedal skill self-taught. 



THREE SONNETS. 

TO IONIA. 

I. 



T N summery radiance ever-steeped you lie, 
' In far recesses of the foretime young ; 
Your clustered isles, whose names are poesy, 
Where minstrels of the dawntime loved and sung- 



To Ionia. 299 

Teos, Chios, cradles of melody ! 

Samos, where young Pythagoras mused and 

dreamed ; 
Ephesus, o'er which wreathed temple-vapors hung, 
From shrine of Artemis, which ever streamed. 
Land of voluptuous music, Lydia near 
In shadow of auriferous mountains lay, 
Where Gyges, Croesus, wealthy without peer, 
Reigned in the dawn of the historic day, 
In palaces past which hill-torrents rolled 
Their headlong waters bright with grains of gold. 



Of old the Persian satraps thee oppressed, 
And from thy twelve fair cities tribute drew, 
Till Mykale's proud day them overthrew 
And with autonomy did re-invest 
Thee. In thy years of ruin ruder sway 
Hath weighed upon thee than the satraps old. 
Thou hast been to the mindless Scyth a prey ; 
Only the glorious sky o'er thee unrolled 
And sea-waves at thy feet hath he not marred, 
Which in their shining depths mirror and lave 
Still many a column fair and architrave 
Of fallen Branchidae, templed suburb bright 
Of old Miletos, where the God of Light 
His holy manor 'gainst profane feet barred. 

in. 

Herodotus and Homer used your tongue 
Limpid as azure of your sea and sky, 



300 Helen and Menelaus. 

And without poet's rhythmus melody. 

Siren Aspasia in your soft clime sprung 

Winning the mighty heart of Pericles, 

With wit and beauty's seldom-mingled charm. 

You pampered wayward Alcibiades, 

And held his corse when death brought to him calm. 

O queenly land ! now thou art wan and pale, 

Haggard with centuried desolation drear. 

Soon may the Crescent o'er thee wane and fail 

In dark eclipse, the Scythian disappear 

Back to the solitudes of Oxus sent, 

Hiding his head 'neath Toorkman's nomad tent. 



HELEN AND MENELAUS TRANSLATED 
TO ELYSIUM.* 

/^VLD was Menelaus, weary, 
^— ' Earthward bowed by time and fate, 
But in face and form of Helen 
Beauty bloomed inviolate. 



* " It is not thy destiny," said the Old man of the Sea, " O 
Menelaus ! to die in Argos, the pasture ground of horses. 
You will not meet there with your fate. But the Immortals 
will send thee to the Elysian Plain and the extreme limits of 
earth, where blond Rhadamanthus reigns, and where, in an 
atmosphere unvisited by snow or wintry rain or tempests of 
thunder and lightning, men enjoy life on the easiest terms. 
There ocean ever sends shoreward the shrill-blowing west 
wind to refresh mortals. Thither will they send thee, because 
you are the husband of Helen and the son-in-law of Jove." — 
Odyssey, 361-369, Book 4. 



Helen and Menelaus. 301 

Daughter of the gods, still charmed she. 

Rustling of her rich attire 
Kindled, as she queenly glided 

Through her palace, sweet desire. 

Far away was hated Ilium — 

Walls and turrets mouldered low, 
And the ten-years' famous conflict 

Memory was of long ago. 
She in hollow Lacedasmon 

With her loved lord dwelt again ; 
All the sad past was forgiven, 

With its sorrow, sin, and pain. 

With her golden distaff spun she, 

'Mongher busy handmaids fair, 
Finest yarn from purple fleeces, 

Seated in her easy-chair. 
Edged with gold a costly basket, 

Glittering held her fine-spun thread. . 
On her chair a gorgeous cushion, 

Wove of softest wool, was spread. 

With a gracious mien received she 

Guests, who, wandering wistful, far 
Tidings sought of unreturning 

Sires and sons from Troja's war. 
In their wine to drown their sorrow 

Magic potion would she pour, 
Nile's nepenthe, which imbibing 

Felt they pangs of grief no more. 



302 Helen and Menelaus. 

Prey of keen remorse was Helen, 

Brooding o'er her evil fame ; 
Doomed to sin, that prize of beauty 

Might be gathered through her shame. 
But no anger nor reproaches 

From her aged lord she knew, 
As the swift years o'er them fleeted, 

Tenderer his passion grew. 

" Worthy of thine embrace, Helen, 

Canst thou me, a mortal, deem, 
Thou with starry twins swan-gendered, 

Where Eurotas pours his stream ? 
With thy rich, ambrosial tresses, 

Which the snows of time defy, 
How canst suffer me, hoar winter, 

By thy springlike bloom to lie ? 

" Useless here, timeworn, I linger — 

Went my comrades long ago — 
But my vanished youth awaits me, 

When to bounds of earth We go. 
There the winds of ocean breathing 

I my lost might shall regain, 
When the Immortals westward send us 

To that far Elysian Plain. 

" There shall I again grow worthy, 
Helen, of thine embrace sweet — 

'Neath the sway of Rhadamanthus 
Golden hours we there shall fleet. 



Helen and Menelaus. 3°3 

Haply old heroic comrades 

In those blissful meads shall meet, 

Hear the music of the billows 

On that happy strand that beat." 

" Son of Atreus," answered Helen, 

" Think not frosts of Eld can wean, 
Thick though on thy dear head falling, 

From her love for thee, thy queen. 
Though the blood of starred Olympos 

In me frees from fleshly ill, 
And though years have bowed thy stature, 

O my lord ! I love thee still. 

" Even when the vile seducer 

Me beyond the sea had borne, 
Still remained you loving, loyal, 

Though forsaken and forlorn. 
Still a queenly wraith I haunted 

Then for thee this palace fair, 
And where'er your longing glances 

Fell in sorrow, I was there. 

" Still in slumbers of the midnight 

Stretched your yearning arms for me, 
And my vanished form before you 

Flitting evermore could'st see ; 
Ingrate were I if devotion 

Such as this could cease to move. 
Though Old Age's dreary, threshold 

Thou hast passed, thou hast my love. 



304 Helen and Menelcins. 

" Ne'er on me did'st cast reproaches, 

When a-hissing rang my name, 
For you knew me thrall of mistress, 

Who had triumphed through my shame- 
Knew you well that craven Paris 

Held I in contempt and scorn ; 
Saw you that 'gainst Aphrodite 

I was helpless and forlorn. 

"Would indeed my wraith had only 

Been at Troy, as gossips tell, 
While myself, in isle of Pharos, 

Naught had known which there befell. 
Would that goblets of nepenthe 

Draining I had sojourned there, 
In that isle of Egypt, weaving 

Meanwhile, lotus-garlands fair ! " 

Thus in high-ceiled, fragrant chamber 

Talked they, while the foliage sere 
In the fitful autumn night wind 

Hither, thither, rustled drear. 
Sudden ceased the gust its raving — 

Slumbered Helen and the king — 
While their valves the palace portals, 

As if self-moved, open fling. 

With his wand and golden sandals 
Entered Hermes, herald bright ; 

With him in their stoles of darkness, 
Came the sad twins, Sleep and Night. 



Epimenides, the Cretan Sleeper. 305 

Lifted they the sleepers gently, 

Drowsed with Lethe's balmiest dew, 
And to earth's remotest limits 

And Elysian Plain they flew. 
All night long on sable pinions 

Sped they, till a brighter sun 
Than illumines earthly mortals, 

Made them 'ware their goal was won. 



EPIMENIDES, THE CRETAN SLEEPER. 

/^LD Hellas had its Rip Van Winkle too, 
^-^ A semi-mythic, half-historic man 
Called Epimenides, who slumbered more 
Than half a century in a Cretan cave. 

Diogenes Laertius narrates 

The legend, how his father to the fields 

Sent him to look for a lost sheep. Meantime, 

Weary with fruitless quest and noontide heat, 

The stripling laid him down in a lone cave, 

High up upon a mountain side, whose mouth 

Looked off to sea, where galleys linen-sailed 

From rich Phoenicia's ports were visible 

In the long sunny days, dim-gleaming far. 

For Crete lay couchant like some mighty beast 

Athwart the track of primitive commerce young. 

There safely housed from din of men below, 

No pathway to his high seclusion leading, 

Or only such as Cretan ibex could have scaled, 



306 Epimenides, the Cretan Sleeper. 

Perchance some cascade, cavern-born, deepening 
His lonely slumbers with its song — he lay 
Sleeping a semi-centuried sleep. The hours 
Meanwhile rolled over him innocuous, 
Furrowing not with wrinkles grim his brow. 

The dawn her arrows shot into his cave 
Tinging his downy cheek with roseate bloom, 
And glossy, unshorn locks with golden gleam. 
The fountain murmured on, the still noon made 
His breathing audible, if any ear 
Had been in that lone cavern dim to listen. 

At eve long shafts of dewy moonshine came 
Silvering his lips and brow and eyelids o'er, 
Till with a weird, transfigured beauty shone 
The lonely dreamer's melancholy face. 

Spring bloomed and summer glowed and autumn 

waned, 
And winter moaned in rainy gusts making 
The sere leaves eddy rustling round the cave, 
And still he slept a calm, unruffled sleep. 
Careless of wintry blast or summer beam, 
Heedless of mortal change in vales below, 
In spacious Gnossos, where his kindred died 
Leaving his natal mansion empty, while, 
Unconscious heir, he slumbered in the hills, 
And spiders in it plied their filmy looms, 
And other generations into life 
Were born and grew to bearded manhood's prime. 
And trod the downward slope to eld and death. 



Epimcnides, the Cretan Sleeper. 307 

Waking at length his quest he straight resumed, 
But quickly found his sleep had lasted till 
New faces and new men were dwelling in 
The old familiar scenes. What wonder that, 
After such marvellous nap, the rumor ran 
That Epimenides was of the gods 
Beloved, a nympholept, whose lips and brow 
Dian had with immortal kisses sealed, 
Making them consecrate, in silence of 
Some still midsummer night, when dew and moon- 
shine 
Sweetened her blandishments ? For he had been 
A lonely upland-haunting youth, who shunned 
The brawling agora with its rhetors loud, 
And oft had heard the reed notes wild of Pan 
And Oread choirs in mountain solitudes. 
And so 't was said that Artemis had lulled 
Him to that mystical and sacred sleep 
Shutting his senses 'gainst the intrusive world, 
Feeding his spirit with communion high, 
Until he woke by lapse of years unworn 
A poet, seer and priest through all the bounds 
Of Hellas, master of the mantic art. 

His keen prevision by events was shown ; 
Cities pest-smit were by his counsel healed. 
After his treble-centuried life was o'er, 
His relics hallowed long the Spartan land. 
19 



308 Phcedra. 



PH^DRA. 

[Free translation from Euripides.] 

FORTH to the air my languid form convey : 
Where roams the blithe bee I would fain be 
straying, 
Or on the breezy mountains far away, 

Where round my love his deep-mouthed hounds 
are baying. 

There speeds the dappled fawn, the pine-tree there 

Its keen aroma ever is exhaling. 
Let loose the tresses of my auburn hair, — 

Here pent and caged, I feel my life-pulse failing. 

Lay my parched lips where under alders flowing 
The dewy fountain pours its taintless stream ; 

Where o'er the meadow fresh young grass is growing, 
And thousand blossoms woo the summer beam. 

But chiefly for the mountains yearns my heart : 
Therefore, my form uplifting, thither bear ; 

My beauteous prince his keen, unerring dart 
In woody gorges wild is plying there. 

Minion of Dian, he from men afar 

A vestal youth in forest shades is leading ; 

Upon his leafy couch gaze moon and star ; 

His ears are deaf to love-sick passion's pleading. 



The Singer (Aoidos). 309 

Would I an Oread were in Dian's train, 

Huntress of deer, in arrows keen rejoicing ! 

Then glimpses of the loved one I might gain, 
Where nymphs and hounds the chase's joy are 
voicing. 



THE SINGER (AOIDOS). 

LIKE to sun or moon resplendent 
Shone the monarch's high-roofed mansion, 
With its ivory and amber, 
Walls of brass and brazen threshold, 
Silver pillars, silver watch-dogs 
Ranged in rows to guard the entrance 
By Hephaestos wrought with cunning. 
Here to light the joyous banquet, 
While the Jove-descended monarch 
And his guests reclining feasted, 
Golden youths on well-built altars 
Standing lifted blazing torches ; 
Here with hollow harp the Singer 
Witched the feasters and the dancers, 
While he sang his glowing rhapsodes. 
Him the muses, good and evil 
Often sending mixed together, 
Reft of eyesight, while they gave him 
Tuneful voice and mystic impulse, 
Sacred breath of inspiration : 
Met him on their Holy Mountain 
In the still ambrosial midnight. 
While a youth his flocks he tended, 



io The Lost Helen. 

Gift of song on him bestowing, 
Let him hear their choral voices 
Gods of bright Olympos hymning. 
By the sound and vision haunted 
Evermore his soul was lifted ; 
All the past in retrospection 
Was disclosed unveiled before him, 
And he sang the deeds of heroes, 
And the purple, cloudless ether, 
Where the gods in quiet mansions 
Led their lives of pangless joyance. 



THE LOST HELEN. 

[Agamemnon, 414-439.] 



QTILL through his hall her vanished form will 






seem 



A queenly shadow gliding as of yore ; 
In visions of the night his heart will deem 
The Sea divides her from his arms no more. 

But vain the solace empty dreams can bring ; 

The grasp of love their shapes illusive fly 
Adown the maze of sleep on noiseless wing 

Mocking with vain delight the hungering eye. 

Henceforth from sculptured forms of other days, 
That gleam in marble beauty round his hall, 

Loathing, impatient he averts his gaze 
Enduring naught, that Helen may recall. 



Schiller s " Gods of Greece." 3 1 1 



THE SLAIN AT TROY. 

A NGUISH, which tries the heart, in every home 
■**• Of universal Hellas will be known, 
When for her braves to distant Ilion gone 
Ashes and brazen urns come back alone. 



What mourner in that dust of death will find 
The shape heroic, which the breast held dear, 

Which to the dark funereal urn consigned 

War sendeth back from strife of sword and spear ? 



SCHILLER'S " GODS OF GREECE/' * 

[Freely translated in part.] 



OTILL ruled ye with dominion bland, 
^ Man's happy generations swaying, 
Fair beings out of fable-land, 

When all the young world went a-Maying, 
And still thy fanes with wreaths were bright, 

O Amathusian Aphrodite ! 



* Since Schiller's " Gods of Greece" was written, the reli- 
gion of intolerance, asceticism and blind faith has fallen into 
disrepute, and the cult of the beautiful or aesthetics has been 
revived. This worldliness is again the fashion, and men are 
appreciative of the charms of nature, and find everywhere in 



12 Schiller s " Gods of Greece" 

ii. 

Around the truth the drapery fair 

Of poesy was woven then, 
Life's fulness streamed through earth and air, 

As it will never stream again — 
To make her loved and lovely man 

Nature enriched with will and feeling, 
So that whate'er his eyes might scan 

Was trace of deity revealing. 

in. 

• 

Where only now, as sages say, 

Soulless an orb of fire is turning, 
Car-borne, a stately God of Day, 

In ether blue, men were discerning. 
An Oread haunted every hill — 

With every tree a Dryad died — 
And with its silvery foam each rill 

Was deemed from Naiad's urn to glide. 



a boundless universe an immanent deity, who is no outsider to 
creation, which is no mere dead mechanism made once on a 
time out of nothing and run by force delegated for that pur- 
pose, but a cosmos in which creative power is always at work 
as vigorously now as ever. For current science, like the old 
Greek mythology, finds the universe alive in every molecule 
and atom. Now, not only is the spirit of other worldliness 
declining, but the delights of the senses are no longer de- 
nounced as sinful, when indulgence is moderated by reason. 
In one word, the old Hellenic spirit, which Schiller sighed 
for in the above poem, is now strong again, moulding indi- 
viduals and communities to a love of the beautiful and true, 
as well as of the good. 



Schiller s " Gods of Greece." 313 



IV. 



In every grove plained Philomel — 

Hushed into stone drooped Niobe — 
And in each streamlet teardrops fell 

Shed for the lost Persephone ; 
With Syrinx's woe each reed was sighing, 

Wherever brook sped scarce in sight ; 
On yonder hill was Venus crying, 

Ah, vainly for her minion bright. 



To old Deucalion's race descending 

Enamored deities still came ; 
For mortal maid, his flocks while tending ; 

Apollo felt a lover's flame ; 
Alike round heroes, gods, and men 

Love did his rosy bondage twine — 
Mortals and gods and heroes then 

All knelt at Amathusia's shrine. 



VI. 

Your festive ritual never knew 

Harsh penance or austere devotion — 
The happy were akin to you — 

All hearts throbbed with a glad emotion 
For then the holy was the fair, 

To Beauty's sceptre all submitting. 
Man's raptures gods blushed not to share, 

If Muse and Graces were permitting. 



H SchiClers " Gods of Greece. 



VII. 



No spectre o'er the bed of death 

Hung ghastly then, but sad affection, 

Kissing, received the parting breath, 

And Love his torch lowered in dejection. 



VIII. 

Where art thou, lovely world ? Again 

Return, O vanished bloom of yore ! 
Save in the land of song, your reign, 

O happy golden time, is o'er. 
Dishallowed meadows, forests mourn — 

No glimpse of deity is given — 
From disenchanted earth forlorn 

Her haunting life of gods was driven. 



IX. 



Out of the cold North, breathing dun, 

A blast that fairy world invaded, 
And, while exalted was the one, 

The mythic host before him faded. 
In yonder starry vault I find, 

My lost Selene,* thee no more, 
While hollow echo on the wind 

Answers my call from wood and shore. 



* Selene was the Greek name of the moon or of the god- 
dess of the moon. 



Schiller s " Gods of Greece." 3 1 

x. 

Unconscious of the joys she yields — 

Of her own splendor unaware — 
Blind to the plastic power that wields 

And fashions her forever fair — 
Deaf to the voices in her praise — 

Like lifeless pendulum's vibration, 
Lo ! godless nature now obeys, 

Slavelike, the law of gravitation. 

XI. 

Day dies, but with each fresh morn shines 

Resurgent from its grave diurnal ; 
The moon, waxing and waning, winds 

Like spindle swift its round eternal. 
Useless, to poet's land they flew, 

Their home, the gods of earth's young days— 
The world no more their guidance knew, 

But held itself, self-poised, in space. 

XII. 

Yes, homeward to the poet's land, 

The bright gods, flying, bore away 
All that was beautiful and grand ; 

Life's melodies and colors gay. 
Saved from the whelming stream of time, 

O'er heights of Pindus still they hover, 
Immortally in song sublime, 

They only live whose life is over. 



1 6 The Lament of Ceres. 



THE LAMENT OF CERES.* 

[Translated from the German of Schiller.] 
I. 

/^NCE more is genial spring-time glowing? 
^-^ Has earth re-youthed herself again ? 
Green in the sun the hills are growing 

And ice-free leaps the brook amain. 
While flashes on its mirror blue 

The cloudless heaven's reflected sheen ; 
And west wind's softest whispers woo 

The buds to burst in leafage green. 



* The legend of Demeter and Kora or of The Mother and 
The Maiden, as Ceres and Proserpine were called, is the most 
touching and significant of all the Greek myths. The Mater 
Dolorosa of Christianity is a plagiarism from it. Ceres was 
of course a personification of the Earth, and her daughter, 
Persephone, of the Earth's annually reappearing vegetable 
life. This annual resurrection of blade and blossom the old 
Greeks regarded as a symbol and assurance of the triumph of 
the human spirit over death. This was the fundamental idea 
of the Eleusinian mysteries and of the solemn earth-worship 
celebrated at Eleusis. Schiller has concentrated in the follow- 
ing poem the very essence of the Greek myth of the Mother 
and Child. It is, perhaps, the finest of his minor poems. It 
is full of the sadness of the yearning of the human spirit for 
immortality, full of the sadness of the laceration and mystery 
of death, and also of the joy and hope of a resurrection or 
triumph over death. 



The Lament of Ceres. 3 1 7 

With lays of love the groves are yearning ; 

Greets me the Oread in the wild, 
" Thy flowers, behold, to light returning, 

Returneth not thy vanished child." 

ii. 

How long I Ve wandered wide earth o'er, 

A weary quest in vain pursuing, 
Sending thy beams to help explore 

Her track, O Sun, whose loss I 'm rueing ! 
Not one has tidings brought to me 

Where now my hapless darling pines ; 
The sun himself, that all can see, 

Vainly to find my lost one shines: 
Am I through thee, O Zeus, forlorn ? 

Has Pluto, smitten by her charms, 
The maid to hell's dark rivers borne, 

A ravished captive in his arms ? 

in. 

The herald of my anguish who 

Will be unto that gloomy shore ? 
Forever plies the grim canoe, 

But only shadows ferries o'er. 
Barred— that no happy eye may know 

Its gloom — the underworld remains. 
And long as Stygian stream may flow, 

No living form there entrance gains. 
While thousand pathways lead below, 

None back unto the daylight tend, — 



3 iS The Lament of Ceres. 

No witness of the Maiden's woe 
May to the Mother's sight ascend. 

IV. 

Mothers from Pyrrha's * stock who came 

Are at the grave not all forlorn. 
They follow through the funeral flame 

Their loved, — themselves, too, mortal-born. 
Dwellers in Jove's high homestead may 

Descend not to the nether strand. 
Thither inclined their passage stay 

The Parcae with a pitiless hand. 
Oh would I were an outcast there, 

From golden halls of heaven exiled ! 
The stricken mother would forswear 

Her deathless birthright for her child. 



Where with her gloomy consort she 

High-throned in joyless state may sit, 
Would I a bodiless shade might be, 

With shadows, that before her flit ! 
Alas, her eyes, blinded with tears, 

Seek vainly for the golden light, 
And for the distant, starry spheres 

They knew of old in earthly night. 
Her yearning gaze her mother's face, 

Till joy returns, may not behold, 



* Pyrrha was the Eve of Greek mythology, or rather the 
mother of mankind after the flood. 



The Lament of Ceres. 3 1 9 

Till, locked once more in close embrace, 
Parent and child each other fold, 

Till down the cheeks of Orcus stern 

The shades of Erebus discern, 

Amazed, strange tears of pity rolled. 



VI. 



This may not be : my grief is vain. 

Calm in its even course above 
Rolls on the Day-god's golden wain, 

Forever stands the will of Jove. 
Far from the realm of night, he turns 

In bright disdain his glance away. 
Once snatched to nether gloom returns 

No more my lost one to the day, 
Until the streams of Orcus glow 

With cheerful tints of roseate dawn, 
And over midmost hell her bow 

Of beauty Iris shall have drawn. 

VII. 

Remaineth naught of her to me ? 

Is there no sweetest pledge assuring 
That, though by space we sundered be, 

Our wonted love is still enduring ? 
Is there no heart-knot knit, that ties 

The mother to the daughter fled ; 
No mystic emblem, that allies 

The living to the cherished dead ? 



The Lament of Ceres. 

Wholly apart we are not riven : 

She has not flown beyond my reach ; 

To us the Powers on high have given, 
That we may still commune, a speech. 



VIII. 

When children of the spring are dying, 

And blade and bloom are turning sere, 
And mournfully the bare bough sighing 

Waves leafless in the north wind drear, 
The very germ of life I take 

Out of the year's exuberant horn, 
An offering to the Styx to make, 

Seed of my own fair, golden corn. 
Sadly in earth I bury it low, 

Close to my child's heart lay the grain, 
That it may tell her of my woe, 

A mother's love, a mother's pain. 



IX. 



The roseate hours in frolic dance 

Usher the gracious spring again, 
And in the sun's life-kindling glance 

The blade new-born shoots forth amain. 
The germs, which to the eye had perished, 

Into the realm of colors bloom, 
And by the sunbeams wooed and cherished 

They struggle forth from dark earth's gloom. 



The Lament of Ceres. \ 

While heavenward the stalk aspireth, 
Shyly the root gropes toward the night : 

Gloom of the underworld requireth 
The growing blade and ether's light. 



x. 



Thus, touching realms of life and death, 

The wheaten stalk for me upspringeth : 
My herald from the shades beneath, 

A message sweet of joy it bringeth. 
Out of the spring's young blossoms fair, 

Listening, I hear a soft voice say, 
That far from daylight's golden air, 

Where only mournful shadows stray, 
Bosoms the throbs of love still know, 

And hearts with fond effusion glow. 



XI. 



O children of the fresh young year, 

With joy unfeigned thus hail I you. 
Steeped in the sun, your stalks you rear, 
In rainbow tints your flowers appear, 

Your cups o'erflow with purest dew. 
In springtime's warmth and splendor brief 

Each tender breast my joy will know, 
And in the autumn's withered leaf 

Behold an emblem of my woe. 



The Legend of Tithonos and the Dawn. 



THE LEGEND OF TITHONOS AND THE 
DAWN.* 

When the ship had left the current of tke ocean-river, it 
entered the waves of the sea with its broad thoroughfares, 
sailing to the island Aiaie, where is the abode of Dawn and 
also of Sunrise. — Odyssey. 

TTOUR of the still unrisen Sun, 
*■ * Of dewy-cool, auroral light, 
Before thy star, young Phosphor, flit the shadows 

dun 
And dreams of star-sown night. 
Not yet with din of wains and tramp of feet 
Innumerous the populous city roars, 



* " This fable," says Bacon, in his "Wisdom of the 
Ancients," "seems to contain an ingenious description of 
pleasure, which at first, as it were in the morning of the day, 
is so welcome that men pray to have it everlasting, but forget 
that satiety and weariness of it will, like old age, overtake 
them, though they think not of it ; so that at length, when 
their appetite for pleasurable actions is gone, their desires and 
affections often continue ; whence we commonly find that aged 
persons delight themselves with the discourse and remem- 
brance of the things agreeable to them in their better days. 
This is very remarkable in men of a loose and men of a mili- 
tary life, the former of whom are always talking over their 
amours and the latter the exploits of their youth. Like grass- 
hoppers, they show their vigor only by their chirping." 



The Legend of TitJionos and the Dawn. 323 

But lies each long, deserted street 
Silent as inland vale or lake with wood-fringed 
shores. 

O Dawn, would thou wert even now 
As in the long-gone, mythic time, 
When wore thy maiden brow 
A chaplet sweet of rose and violet and thyme 
Silvered with drops of dew or frosty rime ! 
In mystic isle afar of spiced, uncertain clime, 
With comradeship of downy-sandalled Hours, 
You dwelt, o'er-roofed by dewy, orient bowers ; 
While, reddening in your punctual beam, 
Anear your palace rolled the ocean-stream, 
Which laved with current large 
The earth's remotest marge. 

There, as she sate upon her golden throne, 
One cause of sad disquiet Eos knew alone. 
The childish treble of her age-bowed paramour 
Came querulous for evermore 
Through shining valve and breezy corridor. 

While strength and beauty crowned her sweetheart 

bright, 
In solitary bliss they lay 
In bower of Eos, until orient day 
Aroused her to her ministry of light. 
How eagerly, when that was o'er, 
And rippled in the Sun the ocean-floor, 
Back to her chamber flew her footsteps bright ! 



324 The Legend of Tithonos and the Dawn. 

But loathed Old Age at length 

Tithonos reft of all his strength. 

" Once," moaned he, " I was jealous of the hour 

Which took from mine thy honeyed lips, 

And left me lonely in thy bower * 

Here at the limits of the world, 

When stars were waning in eclipse 

And vapors upward from the low earth curled. 

With burning tears and heavy heart 

I saw thy mist-dividing wheels depart, 

While, wreathed with roses, round thee ran 

The jocund Hours, and Phosphor lit the van 

With torch of silver flame, 

As up from vale, mead, hearthfire, came 

The morning's cheerful steam 

To welcome incense-like thy roseate team. 

"But now thy deathless beauty mocks me with a 

sense 
Of frigid age and joyless impotence. 
My fleeting mortal youth I gave to thee, 
No match for thine eternal pedigree. 
My flower of strength, limbs, lips and heart were 

thine, 
While love in strictest embrace us did join. 
The wooer thou : I passive was to thee 
Upon that long-past, unforgotten day 
When on swift wheels you ravished me away, 
And far aloof in chambers of the Morn 
Me thrilled with bliss for which I was not born. 
The Hours, which waste me, night by night renew 



The Legend of TitJwnos and the Dawn. 325 

Thy bloom with a rejuvenescent dew ; 

While I, thy paramour of mortal race, 

Grow gray and shrivelled in your bright embrace. 

Jove's spell reverse, that I may find the rest 

Earth's children crave upon their mother's breast." 

She in her inmost chamber him immured, 
With bolts and bars the shining valves secured. 
The tremulous graybeard had for food 
Ambrosia in his odorous solitude. 
Pervaded hall and breezy corridor 
His piping accents evermore ; 
While up to Eos on her throne of gold, 
From vales, seas, mountains, strains Memnonian 
rolled. 

At length, transformed and shrunken, gradual grew 
Her lover old to a grasshopper drinking dew, 
Whose bloodless limbs in summer suns rejoice ; 
Who from the tree-tops pours a shrill, incessant 

voice ; 
Whose song immortal as himself was dear 
To husbandmen and poets old ; 
The advent of the cheerful spring foretold ; 
Whose tuneful impulse, accents clear, 
The loving Muses gave ; 
Who passionless, defiant of the grave, 
At last to semblance of the gods came near. 



326 Hylas. 



HYLAS. 

THE noontide glowed with fervent heat, 
* And deeper tanned the grain ; 
With iteration fierce repeat 
The cicads shrill their strain. 

Laving his feet the river's wave 

A mirror 'neath him flowed, 
Where glassed in dew the welkin blue 

With softened splendor showed. 

As in a dream witched by the gleam 

Of nether heaven he stood 
Enamoured of the boy uprose 

The daughters of the flood. 

" Soft blooms the down upon your cheek, 
Where rose and ivory blend, — 

From scorching air to grottos fair, 
O stripling sweet, descend. 

" In cooling wave delights to lave 

The sun at eventide, 
With heightened sheen ascends serene 

The moon from ocean wide." 

Streamed long and fair the naiads' hair, 

Appealed their eyes of blue ; 
From summer's glow to grots below 

The youth their glamor drew. 



Vernal Hymn to Apollo. 327 

His loss deplore for evermore 

The reapers in their lays ; 
While falls the grain, their plaintive strain 

Makes sad the harvest days.* 



VERNAL HYMN TO APOLLO. 

FOLLOWERS of the Sage of Samos,f 
In the foreword's purple spring, 
To the god of song and gladness 
Paeans loud were wont to sing. 
Seven-chorded lyre their master 
Fashioned deftly vibrant rung, 
And, as flowed their bright libations, 
This perchance the strain they sung : 



* Apropos of the above lines, among the husbandmen 
of ancient Greece and Western Asia there were sung at 
harvest time and the period of greatest summer heat, when 
the Dog-star rages, certain mournful ditties, which lamented 
the fate of certain deified boys or youths of rare beauty, who 
were fabled to have perished by drowning or to have been de- 
voured by rabid dogs. Their untimely fate was lamented by 
reapers in melancholy songs. These youths were variously 
called Hylas, Linus, Bormus, and Adonis. But the real ob- 
ject of lamentation, as M uller says in his " Literature of An- 
cient Greece," was the tender beauty of spring blasted by the 
summer heat. This evanescent bloom was personified and 
bewailed in mournful harvest songs. The ancient husband- 
men; in making their annual laments for beauty too swiftly 
flown and blasted, were simply moved by "that sadness which 
cleaves to all finite existence." 
f Pythagoras. 



328 Vernal Hymn to Apollo. 

'T is the season, O Apollo, 

When from mystic sojourn far 
Com'st thou Delphi's steep regaining 

In thy swan-drawn, radiant car. 
Earth in blossoms breaks to greet thee, 

Soars o'erhead the cloudless blue, 
Carol birds in every thicket : 

We, thy votaries, carol too. 

Myrrhine odors from thy temple 

Curl aloft in fragrant mist ; 
Flash the peaks of high Parnassus 

By the rays of morning kissed ; 
Light of prophecy still streameth 

From thy holy mountain shrine ; 
Gifts of many-languaged suppliants 

There in votive splendor shine. 

Priceless, glorious mementos 

Of the past are gleaming there, 
While o'erhead the crag- born eagles 

Poise themselves in azure air. 
Sculptured beauty, that decays not, 

Deathless haunts thy templed glen ; 
Charms, that once could fire the nations, 

Still witch there the eyes of men.* 



* There were several votive golden statues at Delphi of 
women famed for their loveliness ; among others one of the 
fair but frail Phryne, the most famous beauty of ancient Hel- 
las. It was the work of Praxiteles, of solid gold, and stood 
on a pillar of Pentelican marble. The cynic philosopher, 
Crates, called it a votive offering of the profligacy of Greece. 
Beauty was a sacred attribute in the estimation of the Greeks, 
even the beaulv of a courtesan. 



Vernal Hymn to Apollo. 329 

Round thy Sibyl, as her accents 

Fate's enigmas dark unfold, 
Tributes hoarded through the ages, 

Kings' ex-votos blaze in gold. 
To thy lofty threshold wafted 

Come perfumes from sea and vale. 
Through its flowery gorge, thy river* 

Shaded runs by olives pale. 

On thy sacred steep thou sittest, 

God of justice and of light : 
Thither countless votaries climbing 

Bow in homage to thy might. 
Welcome was thy glad arrival, 

Sound of song and lyre was heard, 
Dark and bloody rites were banished, 

Souls to harmony were stirred. 

Pillared fanes and cities rising 

Made the earth more lovely seem, 
Poet, sculptor, words and marble 

Wrought to likeness of his dream. 
Genius by thine impulse quickened 

Poured itself in Pythian lay ; 
At thy bidding, truce and quiet 

Reigned along each travelled way. 

God of shepherds, once you tended 
Mortal's flock on pastoral lea, 



* The river Pleistus, which flowed from the steep of Delphi 
through the lovely plain of Cirrha into the sea. Up the gorge 
of this river swarmed pilgrims to the shrine cf Apollo. 



330 . Vernal Hymn to Apollo. 

At your humble service listening 
Low of kine and hum of bee. 

Garland of the sacred laurel 

Thou round victor's brow dost twine. 

Healer, lyrist, and soothsayer, 
All thy functions are benign. 

Quelled by magic of thy harping 

Darkest passions sink to rest ; 
Pangs of wild remorse assuaging 

Cleansest thou the guilty breast. 
All the festal, glad emotions 

At thy bidding wake and glow ; 
Thus thou giv'st to man, ill-fated, 

Respite sweet from care and woe. 

Archer art thou ; and thine arrows, 

Raining plagues and vengeance, fly 
When injustice crowned and haughty 

Dares affront thy deity. 
But thy gentle shafts thou keepest 

For thy favorites' release : 
Noiseless from thy bowstring speed they 

Dipped in dews of sleep and peace.* 

Thus thy votaries might have hymned thee, 

Phoibos, in the long-ago, 
When the rays of morning deemed were 

Arrows from thy golden bow. 



* An euthanasia or sudden, painless death, was attributed 
by the ancient Greeks to the gentle arrows {agana belea) of 
Apollo and Dian. 



Colacus of Santos. 33 l 

Caves and fountains, which you haunted, 
Pensive pilgrims, musing, scan : 

Now but souvenirs in them find they 
Of the fancies strange of man. 

Gorgeous dreams and beauteous shadows, 

Which to form and feature grew, 
And were shrined as gods in temples, 

Ere man his own nature knew. 
These a deep hallucination 

Real made through centuries long, — 
Personal forces, which the reason 

Banished has to realm of song. 

Of that airy brood, Apollo 

Brightest was that fancy feigned. 
Lord of light and song and music 

Over Hellas long he reigned. 
Like Jehovah on Mount Zion, 

He was throned on Phocian Hill. 
Shrunk he long since to a shadow, 

But Jehovah reigneth still. 



COLAEUS OF SAMOS. 

B.C. 640. 

THE Samian Colaeus 
Long tempest-driven saw 
At length earth's western margin 
With gaze of silent awe. 



33 2 Colaeus of Santos. 

He first of Grecian sailors 
Far in the foretime lone 
Found egress for his galley 
Into a world unknown, 

Old Homer's ocean-river, 
Deep-running, without bound, 
That with its green brine girdled 
The foodful earth around. 
That through the rift of earthquake 
Poseidon's trident made, 
'Twixt Libya, Asia, Europe 
A foamy pathway laid, 

Filling the great sea- valley 
Far eastward e'en to Nile, 
Where infant navigation 
Crept slow from isle to isle. 
From its primeval waters, 
Its azure-flowing tide, 
The rains and dews are gendered, 
All founts and rivers glide. 



Colaeus saw the Pillars 
Strong Herakles upreared, 
And boldly 'neath their shadow 
His errant prow he steered. 
Myth-nurtured, gazed he wistful 
Out o'er the world-sea's brine, 
In golden clouds of sunset 
Saw manv a marvel shine, 



Demeter, Or the Eleusinian Mother, 

Saw, haply, gleaming pathway, 
That o'er the billows led 
To rich Hesperian gardens 
And islands of the dead. 
Thereafter, Commerce halted 
At pillared straits no more, 
But traffic sought undaunted 
By outer ocean's roar.* 



ojj 



DEMETER, OR THE ELEUSINIAN 
MOTHER. 

(chorus of the initiated.) 



COREGLEAMS of immortal 
* Life on us are shining, 
Us the Mystic Mother 
With a hope assureth 
Of a better being, 
When our ashes darkling 
Lie inurned, forgotten. 



* The voyage of Colaeus of Samos through the Straits of 
Gibraltar into the Atlantic Ocean was a great event in the his- 
tory of primitive commerce. Colaeus had sailed for Egypt, 
but was driven by an easterly storm to the western extremity 
of the Mediterranean Sea, "not without divine direction," 
says the historian Herodotus, in recording the event, which 
occurred B.C. 640. It was the first historic voyage of a Greek 
mariner into the Atlantic Ocean, which was then literally "an 
unknown world " of water. — Humboldt. 



34 Demcter, Or the Eleusinian Mother. 



jjh- 



ii. 

Therefore beaming cheerly 
Sun and moon shine on us ; 
Only us they gladden, 
Only us no shadows 
Cast by boding terror, 
Dread of the hereafter, 
Lifelong darken, sadden. 

in. 

As the years steal from us 
Strength and manly beauty, 
Deaden the emotions, 
Dark locks thin and whiten, 
Bow the upright stature, 
We repine not, rather 
See but barriers falling, 
Walls of flesh collapsing, 
O'er which glides the spirit, 
Freed, enlarged, and joyous, 
To its goal eternal 

IV. 

In the solemn midnight 
Ope your mystic portals, 
On their hinges clanging, 
At whose sound profane feet 
Leave the holy precinct 
Swift with trepidation. 
Far, within, the Mother, 



Demeter, Or the Eleusinian Mother. 335 

In her azure peplum, 
Star-besprent and flowing, 
Crowned with golden corn-ears, 
Stands in awful beauty. 
O'er her mighty shoulders 
Flow her wheaten tresses, 
From her robes exhaling 
An ambrosial odor. — 

v. 

Sate the sad Earth-Mother, 
Drooping with bereavement, 
On the Stone of Sorrow, 
Smileless, silent, foodless, 
O'er her waved an olive. 
By the wayside sate she, 
Near the public fountain, 
Whither came for water 
Maidens of Eleusis. 
Nurse of royal children, 
Stewardess and keeper 
Of some stately mansion 
Born in years long vanished 
Seemed she in her aspect. 
Coming there for water 
With their brazen pitchers 
Celeus' daughters saw her, 
Four in number were they, 
In the fragrant flower-time 
Of their youth and beauty, — 
Knew they not the goddess, 



336 Demeter, Or the Eleusinian MotJier. 

Hard of recognition 
Are the dread Celestials. 
" Whence art thou, O Mother ? 
Generations long past 
Claim thee as coeval, 
Wherefore from the city- 
Far aloof art keeping ? 
Women such as thou art, 
In yon stately mansion, 
Old as thou, are dwelling ; 
Younger ones would love thee, 
Give thee kindly greeting." 



To their father's palace 
Thereupon they led her ; 
She behind, dejected, 
Followed, veiled completely 
From her head all downward ; 
Peplum of the goddess 
Dark blue lightly rustled 
Round her agile footsteps. 
In her fragrant bosom 
Nurtured she Demophoon, 
Son of Metaneira. 
With her breath celestial 
Nightly round the nursling 
Flames the goddess kindled 
Dross of mortal nature 
From him swiftly purging. 
Soon annealed and deathless, 



Demctcr, Or the Eleusinian Mother. 337 

Like his nurse, the infant 
Would have sprung to manhood, 
But the jealous mother, 
Full of wild misgivings, 
Anxious for her darling, 
In the stilly midnight 
Saw his fiery nurture, 
Shrieked with fright and anguish, 
Till the angry goddess 
From her breast immortal 
Thrust the earth-child rudely, 
From her mighty stature 
Shedding human weakness, 
Every mortal semblance, 
Stood she there apparent. 
Beauty breathed around her 
And divinest odors 
Shook she from her garments ; 
Splendor of her presence 
Shone through all the palace, 
As the great Earth-Mother 
From its door departed. 
All night long the household 
Tremulous with terror, 
Knelt in adoration, 
Anxious to appease her. 

VII. 

Hail, O Mother, Maiden i 
Benefactors are ye, 
Deities primeval, 



338 Demeter, Or the Eleusinia?i Mother. 

Sap of vernal grass blade, 
Queens of tilth and verdure 
Giving earth its fatness, 
Joy and strength to mortals. 
Stand ye in the West wind 
With dishevelled tresses 
Tanned by tawny summer, 
Reigning over harvests, 
Threshing-floors and farmsteads. 

VIII. 

Jasion, beauteous minion, 
In thy furrows wooed thee, 
O deep-bosomed Mother, 
Won thy love and embrace 
In the soft, sweet springtime, 
Till a son you bore him, 
Plutus, god of riches. 
Blasted Zeus, the stripling, 
Jealous that a mortal 
Such divine fruition 
Ever should have tasted. 

IX. 

From thy steeps, Athenai, 
Pillared, olive-shaded, 
Yearly march the people 
Fresh from surf baptismal 
Of ^Egean surges 
Purified and stainless 
In august procession 
Westward to Eleusis. 



Demeter, Or the Eleusinian Mother. 339 

x. 

Blest is he of mortals 
Who ere graveward going, 
Thee beholds, O Mother ! 
For the end he knoweth, 
Scope of man's existence, 
And its source he knoweth. 
Past the grave's dark portals, 
Past the nether rivers 
On Elysian meadows 
Joyous he emerges 
Crowned with festive myrtle. 
Breathes he purer ether, 
An inebriation 
Not of mortal wine cup, 
But of bliss eternal 
Ever thrills his spirit.* 



* The " Eleusinian Mysteries." — In the history of the evolu- 
tion of the religious sentiment and of comparative theology 
the "Eleusinian Mysteries" occupy a noteworthy chapter. 
The aim of these mysteries was, like that of Christianity, to 
deprive death and the grave of their sting ; in one word, to 
furnish their devotees with a happy solution of 

" The sorrow and the mystery 
Of all this unintelligible world." 

Initiation into these mysteries was a recognized preparation 
for death, and the supposed means of triumphing over the last 
enemy of mortals. Bishop Warburton, in his " Divine Lega- 
tion of Moses," labors to show that the Sixth Book of Virgil's 
/Eneid is in fact an exposition of the rites and scenes con- 
nected with initiation into the mysteries. To be sure, Virgil's 
Sixth Book is devoted to a poetic account of the state of the 



34° Chorus in Lesbos. 



CHORUS IN LESBOS. 

I almost saw the Judge of Shadows drear 
And sable Proserpine in twilight reigning/ 
Eolian Sappho 's lyre could almost hear 
Of damsels of her native isle complaining, 
And thee, Alcczus, sing with fuller strain 
Hardships of sea and war and exile' s longing, 
Both minstrels hushed and eager audience gain 
Of disembodied spirits round them thronging. 

HORACE, Carminum, Lib. ii., 13. 

Sappho and her Pupils. 

IS morning's dewy red is arching o'er ; 
^ Ionian columns gird us, where we stand ; 
Song's daystars we to earth's remotest shore 

Our strains have reached from this fair island's 
strand : 



dead in Tartarus and Elysium, according to the popular belief 
of the old pagan world. But Virgil, in the book aforesaid, 
merely followed in the wake of his master, Homer, who, in 
the " Odyssey," gives a similar account of the realm of the 
dead, or the land of the hereafter, according to pagan notions. 
The high character of Virgil, who was one of the whitest souls 
of the fore-world, to use the language of his friend and fellow- 
poet, Horace, in regard to him, forbids us to entertain for a 
moment the idea that he could have deliberately revealed the 
secrets of initiation, when he was bound by oath not to do so, 
and when to have done so would have made him accursed and 
infamous, an object of horror and execration, in the estimation 
of the best men of the world of his dav. 



Chorus in Lesbos. 34 1 

To earth's remotest shore and latest time 
The modulations of our lyres will ring ; 

The future's bards, us minstrels of the prime 
In grateful melodies will ever sing. 

Their colder spirits kindle at our fire ; 

Our honied numbers borrow for their lays ; 
Our genius thus will every age inspire. 

While love shall melt and bloom the poet's bays 

Our lips with honey of the Muses flow ; 

Our winged words like Hyperion's arrows fly 
From far Cyrene's palms to Scythia's snow, 

With viewless speed they hurtle through the sky. 

Them, like swift doves, the enamored winds will 
bear, 

Whether in storm or zephyrs soft they blow ; 
From groves of myrtle, blue y£gean air, 

Our messengers through time and space they go. 

Sappho. 

Where'er the beams of twilight Hesper shine 
O'er sunset-reddened mount or roseate vale, 

Making the loved around her lover twine 

Her vinelike arms, my memory ne'er shall fail. 

As long as cloistered flowers in gardens bloom 
Unbruised by plough, by dew and sunbeams fed ; 

From their seclusion wafting sweet perfume, 
My hyineneals shall be sung and read. 



34 2 Chorus in Lesbos. 



AIL 



The forum's throng the speaker's tongue can rule — 
With subtler sway the poet's lips are fraught ; 

We sisters of fair Mitylene's school 

From many a strife have victory's garlands 
brought ; 

From bearded bards have borne the palm away, 
While festal Hellas cheered us as we sung ; 

To match the music of Corinna's lay 

The Theban master's chords in vain were strung. 

O bright Harmonia, with thy golden hair, 

Are not thy rose-crowned daughters women too ? 

The mightiest poets with prelusive prayer 
Their inspiration never fail to woo. 

Man's love defiles ; a purer passion binds 

Our muse-knit choir with strong though tender 
bond ; 

Joy he in his heroic friendships finds ; 

Why should not maid to maiden's love respond ? 

Around our dwelling, haunt of muses, bloom 
Green citron woods with golden fruitage hung ; 

And when the starry twilight spreads its gloom 
The nightingale is busy with her tongue. 

Ripples the azure sea, while far away 

Sidonian galleys in the sunshine gleam — 

No fairer clime nor isle the god of day 

In his bright circuit lightens with his beam. 



Chorus in Lesbos. 343 

The rosy hours on noiseless pinions glide ; 

We strike the harp or make the shuttle fly, 
Or o'er some goddess' vestment saffron-dyed, 

By fancy guided, needles deftly ply. 

Alcceus (Alkaios). 

peerless singer of my native isle ! 

My harp, though famed, I never matched with 
thine ; 

1 would have dearly won thy maiden smile ; 
Alas, on me thine eyes would never shine ! 

In storm and exile I have wandered long, 
And battle's splendor seen on many a shore, 

But still to thee I lift my latest song, 
Thy face I ever in my memory bore. 

My heart of hearts thine image has enshrined ; 

It brings me here low at thy feet to fall ; 
Let me this wreath about thy loved brow bind, 

O pure and violet-crowned, I am thy thrall ! 

The might of prophecy on me descends ; 

The rifted future opens vistas far ; 
Forever more with thine my glory blends, 

As in fame's heaven we shine, each one a star. 

If not in mine own speech my strains will live, 
A kindred soul will shrine them in his tongue ; 

As long as wine to winter's gloom shall give 
A festal joy, my measure shall be sung ; 



344 Chorus in Lesbos. 

As long as men o'er fallen tyrants raise, 

With shouts of joy, the goblet's purple gleam, 

Me freedom's lyrist will the nations praise 

And own song's orb, whose rays from Lesbos 
stream. 

I, too, have sung of love and love's sweet star 
Which brings the wayward wanderer to his home ; 

For Lesbos I have yearned, when exiled far, 
And gladly seen it rise o'er ocean's foam. 

Alas ! the day will come in future years, 
When this dear isle a ruined waste will be ; 

If then his bark the pilgrim hither steers 

The lode which draws will be a thought of thee. 

Antimenidas {a Soldier and Brother of AIccp.us). 

I am a soldier from Euphrates' vale 

And proudly wear my ivory-handled sword — 

The gift of orient king for victory won. 

I bow my crest, O Sappho, unto thee ! 

And to the lovely starlike group of maids 

Who round thee as their moon in beauty shine. 

Ionia's loveliness is flashing forth 

The eyes of Anaktoria there ; she brings 

From soft Miletos witcheries of motion, 

A look of bright intelligence, that oft 

Have for Ionia's peerless daughters won 

O'er rich Assyria's luxurious lords 

Dominion absolute of heart and throne. 

I look again, lo ! she of Kolophon 



Chorus in Lesbos. 345 

Is fair ; all, all are fair, most beauteous, sweet, 

To roving soldier, weary, battle-scarred, 

Who longs for embrace of such soft, white arms 

To heal his hurts and lull him into dreams — 

I am no songster like my brother here, 

But I the kithara can sweep rudely ; 

Then list, O ladies, hearken to my song — 

'T is of the mighty land where I Ve sojourned. 

The Hanging Gardens. 

The pensile gardens which o'erhang 

The Euphratean vale, 
Where swift an upland flora sprang 

O'er mimic hill and dale, 
Were reared by love — an empress pined 

In that low valley-land ; 
She languished for the mountain wind 

Her childhood's brow that fanned. 

Her own blue highlands far away 

Her glances sought in vain ; 
Beneath her hot and dusty lay 

The river-furrowed plain ; 
While from Baal's terraces outspread 

In long perspective grand 
Were strung upon the river's thread 

The cities of the land. 

Nostalgia's anguish to beguile, 
On vast substructions reared, 



346 Mimnermos. 

The hanging gardens, pile on pile, 
O'er Babel's roofs appeared. 

In currents of the upper air 
Familiar branches stir 

To cheer the heart of exile fair 
Of beech and pine and fir. 

O'er Asshur's towers and starry fanes 

The mimic Media hung, 
And mocked below the sultry plains, 

Where palm and citron sprung. 
Acclaimed a god, the builder fell 

Below the plane of man ; 
With grazing herds henceforth to dwell, 

He grovelling beastlike ran. 



MIMNERMOS.* 



DLOOM of beauty quickly fadeth — 
*-* Youth like morn-mist swift is flown, 
And its festal hours departed 
We with vain regrets bemoan. 



* Mimnermos was one of the old Ionian lyric poets. He 
was a contemporary of Solon (b.c. 632), the Athenian law- 
giver, and in consequence of the enslavement of his country 
by outside barbaric kings, his poetry was of a melancholy 
character. The Ionians, unmanned by their soft, delicious 
climate, and by contact with the voluptuous and depraved 
contiguous populations, had become degenerate and sunken in 
sensuality. As the only consolation for the fallen political 
condition of himself and his countrymen, Mimnermos recom- 
mended in his verses the enjoyment of the passing hour, and 



Mimnermos. 347 

While the spring of fresh emotion 

In thy breast exultant flows, 
And thy limbs are lithe and beauteous, 

And thy heart impassioned glows, 



11. 



Let the garland bind thy temples 
And the lute and viol sound, 

And the gladness of the grape-juice 
At the banquet circle round. 



particularly of love, which the gods had given to man as a 
compensation for all human ills, The beauty of youth and 
love appears with the greater charm when accompanied with 
the impression of its caducity, and the images of joy stand out 
in more vivid light as contrasted with the shadows of deep- 
seated melancholy. " With this soft Ionian poet," says 
M tiller in his " Literature of Ancient Greece," " who even com- 
passionates the God of the Sun for the toils which he must 
endure in order to illuminate the earth, Solon, the Athenian, 
who was also a poet, presents a marked contrast." There did 
at last come to the Ionian or Asiatic Greeks emancipation 
from the sway of oriental satraps and despots. The battle of 
Mykale, fought on the same day on which the battle of 
Plat^ea was fought, gave deliverance to the Greeks of Asia. 
Aspasia, the mistress of Perikles, was an Ionian Greek from 
Miletus. Curiously enough, the first great Greek poets and 
philosophers were Ionian Greeks, such as Homer and Pytha- 
goras and Demokritos and Anaxagoras. Thus Greek genius 
manifested itself first, not in Greece proper, but in a Greek 
colony, viz., Ionia. By the way, the Hebrew lyrist, voluptu* 
ary, and pessimist, King Solomon, who lived farther east than 
the Ionians, was even more of a sensualist and ca?'pe?diem 
bard than Mimnermos and the other Ionian minstrels. 



348 Mimnermos. 

What is life ! devoid of pleasure 
Without golden Aphrodite — 

Then our days have lost joy's savor, 
When she giveth not delight. 



Let me, then, the pyre encumber, 

Stretched in mortal paleness cold — 
Drenched with farewell, sad libations 

Let the flames my limbs enfold. 
Better' to be dust and ashes, 

'Neath a mound of long grass laid, 
Better pleasant sunlight leaving 

Roam the underworld a shade, 
Than in life to linger loveless, 

Sere, emotionless, decayed. 

IV. 

Founts in courts of marble playing 

With cool murmurs plash and sing — - 
Goblets brimmed with purple vintage 

Sleep to care and sorrow bring. 
Where are they of vanished ages, 

Heroes famous far and wide ? 
Insubstantial, joyless shadows 

Now through Hades dim they glide. 



Say, what profit of their labors 

And their sufferance do they know ? 



Mimnermos. 349 

Happier is a poor drudge living 

Than a king of shades below. 
Once the Ionians, too, were valiant, 

So at least the proverbs say ; 
Now to soft delights surrendered 

Run inert oar lives away. 

VI. 

Thee we pity golden Day- god 

Climbing heaven evermore, 
Sinking in the western ocean, 

When thy fervid task is o'er ; 
Thee no toilless future waiteth 

Bringing light to gods and men — 
Soon as Dawn's bird singeth, thou must 

Up the zenith drive again. 

VII. 

While yon bright sun still is o'er us, 

And a breathing world around, 
Let us, O my fair-tressed Nanno, 

Loyal still to Love be found. 
Nightly let Selene kiss us 

With her soft enamored rays, 
While love's vigils sweetly keeping, 

List we Philomela's lays. 

VIII. 

Like to leaves, so Homer singeth, 

Generations come and go ; 
Love is in this brief existence 

AH the pure bliss we can know. 



350 Idols. 

Round thee, O Ionian Smyrna, 

Clanks the Lydian conqueror's chain ; 

Bravely fought thy vanquished burghers, 
But their valor was in vain. 

IX. 

Love and beauty still are left us, 

And the gift of song divine ; 
Wherefore should we not our sorrows 

Mitigate with love and wine ? 
'T is the clime of beauty, genius, 

Soft Ionia, with its isles — 
From her violet sea love's Goddess 

Rose all dimpled o'er with smiles. 



Asian despots not forever 

O'er us shall maintain their sway — 
Dawneth in some happy future 

For Ionia freedom's day ; 
Then the Panionium's pillars 

Proudly o'er the waves shall soar • 
And the ^Egean's restless surges 

Lave a free strand evermore. 



IDOLS. 



THIRST to cone or pillar rude, 
* Or sky-projectile from the moon, 
Amorphous, shapeless, and unhewn, 
Knelt artless man in reverent mood. 



Pygmalion. 3 5 l 

On legless feet as base next stood 

Shape wrought of stone or cedar wood, 

Half-organic : o'er it wove 

A verdurous roof the sacred grove. 

Breathed daedal Art its magic spell 

And in mystic, perfumed cell, 

Carven fair of marble white 

On a throne sate Aphrodite ; 

Locks of Zeus ambrosial rolled 

Wrought in ivory and gold ; 

Hunted Artemis in stone ; 

Pallas loomed o'er sea and land 

Warder of the Attic strand ; 

And with silver bow in hand 

Python-slayer Phoebus shone. 

Carving semblances of life, 

Chisel waged with nature strife, 

Made the Parian block express 

Ideal might and loveliness, 

Beauty of a mould more fair 

Than ever breathed the earth's gross air. 



PYGMALION. 

A LEGEND OF CYPRUS. 

PYGMALION, in his studio lone imaging 
In marble cold the idol of his heart, 
The lady of his fervid dreams, whom only 
With his cunning chisel's keen incisiveness 
He in the quarry's lustrous stone could find, 
Was archetype of genius evermore. 



352 Pygmalion. 

Perchance the Amathusian dreamer sought 
A loveliness which Nature's self had marked 
With outline clear of veiny streaks, so that 
The block he worked on did already teem 
With hidden beauty, needing but the light 
And extrication from its limestone womb 
To ravish with its lineaments the world. 

In solitude withdrawn, he wrought intensely, 
And, as he wrought, he grew enamored ; for 
He saw the vision of his heart to light 
Slowly emerging, till at last it stood 
Consummate in its carven loveliness. 

Its' sculptor, or deliverer, was thralled 
With passion deep for his own handiwork, 
Born not of wanton womankind, but from 
The throes of genius and ideal love. 
A pang of sweetest longing thrilled his heart, 
As the admitted sunset softly streamed 
O'er its fair proportions with roseate bloom, 
Encrimsoning the perfect lips and brow 
And budding roundness of the maiden breast, 
Kindling to aureole the snooded hair 
And swathing with a golden mist the form 
Divine. Lone-gazing sate the sculptor lone, 
Victorious o'er his hard material, 
Which he had suppled to his vision fair. 
Large draughts of rapture drank he with his eyes 
From that bright shape, the daughter of his 
dreams, 



Pygmalion. 



553 



Which, from the chambers of his imagery, 
Like blue-eyed Palias, came unmothered forth, 
Till daylight waned and sighed the evening breeze 
Rustling the vine leaves trellising his lodge. 

Then looked the Moon and Hesper in with love- 
light sweet, 
Bathing, transfiguring the statue fair, 
Till, glowing with desire, he in his arms 
Encompassed it, imprinting many a kiss, 
And fondly deemed his kisses were returned, 
And thought the marble breast, with fleshlike soft- 
ness, 
To his warm impassioned pressure yielded. 
In the ears insentient murmured he his love, 
His blandishments, as if the statue heard 
And felt a mutual bliss. Then gifts he brought 
To win its heart, such gifts as maidens love. 
Around the fulgent neck as Cypria's fair 
Sparkled a carcanet with hanging pearls, 
Which rode below the bosom's billowy s.well. 
With glittering drops he hung the shapely ears, 
With convolutions delicate as shells 
Of paly pink, that strew the ocean's strand. 
In vestments rare he clad the glossy image, 
E'en on his purple couch made it repose. 

At length his madness to himself became 
Apparent ; saw he that he loved a thing 
Of stone, a beauty feelingless and cold. 
But laved his natal island shores the waves 
Wherefrom the foam-born queen of beauty rose. 



354 Sardanapalus. 

So to her fragrant shrine not far away 
He, desperate, went, and to the Cyprian goddess, 
There where she rose refulgent o'er a cloud 
Of frankincense from all her hundred altars 
Fuming in graceful spirals to the air, 
He knelt and prayed with an impassioned prayer 
Broken with sobs and tears ; 't was from his heart, 
And touched the heart of love's own empress 
bright. 

So, when he homeward fared, he found to flesh 
His marble maid had been transmuted, warmed 
To sentient, winsome, and bewitching life. 

With sweet smile hailed she his return, blushing, 
With downcast, erubescent loveliness, 
So that he greeted her with kiss, that clung 
Insatiable unto her unborn lips. 



SARDANAPALUS. 

" Pluma Sardanapali." 



Juvenal. 



" T ATE and drank and loved, while brightly shone 
* For my imperial eyes Assyria's sun ; 

For dalliance, wine, and song I cared alone, 
Knowing that mortal life is quickly done." 

This legend Sardanapalus' statue bore, 
In old Anchiale, that carven stood. 



The Carrier Dove. 355 

The youthful Alexander conned it o'er 
Moving on Persia, in heroic mood. 

The soft Assyrian scorned all conquest save 
Of beauties coy ; on downy plumes he wooed 

Slumber and soft delights ; to dalliance gave 
His hours inert ; in wine not blood imbrued 

His delicate hands ; at length forgot to rule, 

And 'mong his lemans carded purple wool. 



THE CARRIER DOVE. 

A SWIFT-WINGED dove, with iridescent plumes, 
Through lonely heights of air was noiseless 
flying ; 
And as he flew his pinions shed perfumes, 
While far below the bright Levant was lying. 

O'er isles where palm and vine were greenly grow- 
ing, 

And marble cities flashed the sinking sun — 
With roseate hues earth, air, and sea were glowing, 

And still his goal the lone dove had not won. 

What marvels from that height his eyes could scan, 
As arrow-like through ether he was gliding ! 

The Giant of the Sun, with mighty span, 

Perchance he saw the port of Rhodes bestriding. 

But naught could lure him from his mission sweet. 

At length amid the spent day's golden fire, 
Descending from the air with pinions fleet, 

He furled them, perching on Anacreon's lyre. 



35<~> Le da and t lie Swan. 



LEDA AND THE SWAN. 

TTERE comes my feathered lover all aglow, 
* * The glassy stream with hidden oarage cleaving. 
So floats, a crescent fair, the young moon low 
O'er mountain heights, which day's red rays are 
leaving ; 

So sunny fleeces through high ether sail — 

The zephyr-wafted argosies of air. 
My lovely, loving, breathing galley, hail, 

And dost to woo a human sweetheart dare ? 

Then round me clasp thy strong and lustrous wing, 
For me with sweet desire its plumules thrill. 

Here, in still eventide of purple spring, 

A wooer silver-plumed, wouldst have thy will ? 

With whispers low the river reeds are sighing — 
Soft on mine own thy whitest bosom presses — 

I know some god disguised in thee is plying 
Me with the ardor of his warm caresses. 



THE IONIAN WISE MEN. 

PjUR lot was cast in pleasant places on the isles 
^-^ Of old Ionia with its cloudless heaven, 
Which Helios wreathed with sunniest smiles, 
To gladden us, the famous deep-lored seven. 



The Ionian Wise Men. 357 

Our guide was reason-regulated sense, 

To which eternal Truth unmasks her charms ; 

Through Nature's veil we saw Omnipotence 
Upholding all things with unwearied arms. 

We knew ourselves, and, diving, found within 
A depth as fathomless as that above, — 

We knew that right and justice only win ; 
Their law with being's fibre is inwove. 

The beauteous towns are dust, where we abode ; 

They crumbled 'neath the foot-falls of the years ; 
Yet still the cloudless heavens which o'er them 
glowed 
Are shining down with their unmouldering 
spheres. 

And like those ancient heavens our words survive, 
Because they syllable the truth of things ; 

For goods which lure the herd we did not strive, — 
'T was wisdom, reason, gave our thoughts their 
wings. 

I, Thales, scanned the countless stars on high, 
Which guide with silent beams the sailor's bark ; 

I was the primal student of the sky, 

And full of awe I communed with the dark. 

Me in Miletos once they jeering hailed : 

"What reap'st thou, dreamer, in the ether blue ?" 

I answered them when all their olives failed, 

And from my hoard they fruits of star-lore drew. 



358 The Ionian Wise Men. 

The Builder of the world so beauteous made 
His fabric that my feet would stumble oft, 

As walked I musing 'neath the night's vast shade, 
And heedless of the earth gazed up aloft. 

His subtlest, swiftest messenger is Thought, 
Which tireless through the universe can run ; 

While Time to light has many a mystery brought, 
Will yet unriddle all his hands have done. 

I, Solon, hated tyranny and strove 

To plane of justice to uplift the throng ; 

In many a verse my sapience I wove, 

Whose broken accents yet my fame prolong. 

The spirit-world was unto us unbarred, — 
The shows of things our senses ne'er misled, 

No mote of avarice our vision marred, 

We bathed our bosoms in the morning's red.* 



* See the soliloquy of Faust in the opening scene of that 
poem, where he exclaims : 

" No bar the spirit-world hath ever borne, — 
It is thy thought is shut, thy heart is dead. 
Up ! scholar, bathe, unwearied and unworn, 

Thine earthly breast in morning's beams of red." 



Iphigenia. 359 



IPHTGENIA. 



/""^LD superstition's lurid shadows cloud, 

^-^ Famed Grecian maid, thy stately loveliness. 

Priestess of altars, where in his distress 
The wave-worn mariner, shipwrecked, poured his 

blood. 
Thy seeming sacrifice the winds unchained 

At Aulis, while soul-stricken bowed thy sire ; 
But not thy pure and virgin arteries stained 

With life-tide sweet the dark priest's altar dire. 
For lo ! beneath his curst knife bleeding lay 

A beauteous mountain hart in place of thee ; 
For Dian not in mercy snatched thy form away 

Through blue air to a hideous ministry. 
Dira Religio ! in his deathless verse 
Thee well might the indignant Roman curse. 

11. 

O priests of current creeds, your altars too, 
Like those of Aulis and of Tauris, claimed 

Their human victims. Sacrificial dagger drew 
Not blood ; but faggot-fires of torment flamed 

In a not distant past. Your god was then 
A homicide like Tauric Artemis, 

Who drained the shrunk veins of poor shipwrecked 
men. 



3^o Croesus and Solon. 

Three centuries back did Grim Toledo hiss 

With torture-fires ; Geneva, Smithfield glowed ; 

Still later Rome. No longer brooks that scorching 
mode 

Of pious argument the world we know. 
Calchas* and Dominic and Calvin now 
Could corrugate with pain no victim's brow. 

Their knives and fires are things of long-ago. 



CRCESUS AND SOLON. 



f^RCESUS, the millionaire, his pile who made 
^-- > In some bonanza of the Tmolus chain, 

Down which gold-sanded torrents rolled amain, 
And Mcenads danced, beneath the pine-tree's 
shade, 



* Iphigenia, the daughter of King Agamemnon, was sacri- 
ficed at Aulis, before the Grecian fleet bound for Troy could 
sail. But the priest found not the maiden, but a mountain 
stag, stretched bleeding before the altar by the blow of his 
knife. Diana snatched the human victim away. She was 
carried through the air to a temple of her rescuer on the coast 
of the Black Sea, among the Scythians or Tartars. Ship- 
wrecked Greek sailors were here sacrificed to Diana by the 
barbarians, and Iphigenia was made a priestess ; but she only 
clipped the locks of the victims, and was not present at the 
sacrifice. She finally escaped from Scythia to Athens, where 
she was worshipped as a goddess after her death. A man was 
sacrificed at her shrine during the rites. So that Iphigenia 
was associated with human sacrifices as victim, priestess, and 
goddess. 



Crcesus and Solon. 361 

With his barbaric opulence essayed 
To dazzle Attic Solon's eyes in vain — 

The sage was on the grand tour of the day 

And took the Lydian capital in his way. 

The monarch showed him ingots, bricks and bars 
Of solid gold heaped in his treasure room, 

Which glittered like the night with all its stars. 

Him, Solon, happiest of men to call 

Declined, because some final, direful doom 

Might him despite his heaps of wealth befall. 

11. 

Not to a tinselled and barbaric king, 

Incult and brainless, with his vulgar greed 
Would proud Athenai's lawgiver concede 

The primacy of earthly bliss or bring 
A courtier's incense to his nostrils vain, 
Though largess large his flattery might gain. 

The humblest burgher of his own light soil, 
Who earned his sacred commonwealth's esteem 
By civic virtues, happier he did deem 

Than King set off by Asia's glistening foil- 
Croesus, in anger, closed the interview, 
Scarce to his blunt guest waving an adieu, 

Who, homeward to the land of bees and oil, 
With pride unlowered his journey did pursue. 



362 yEsop. 



^ESOP. 

IN that far auroral time, 
Genius' matin hour and prime, 
When the slopes of Lesbos rung 
To the lays which Sappho sung ; 
When from Aero-Corinth's brow 
Ruled Periander all below, 
Seeing wafted by each breeze 
Mariners from many seas 
Seeking Corinth's havens twain, 
Seeking Amathusia's fane ; 
When on eastern pilgrimage 
Travelled Solon, gnomic sage, 
And the Lydian's regal sheen 
Dazzled not his eye serene ; 
When her freedom Athens lost 
Trampled by Peisistratos, 
And a tyrant's single will 
Made the Agora be still ; 
Epos of the beast and bird, 
Then from ^Esop's lips was heard, 
Hole of Fox and Lion's den, 
Ethic wisdom taught to men. 
Lifted he to human plane 
Dog and wolf and ass and crane, 
Chanticleer and peacock vain. 



&sop. 363 

All the lower tribes for us 

Made he witty, garrulous. 

Under feathered, furred disguise 

Lurked the Phrygian freedman wise, 

With impunity his wit 

Purple tyrants, kings could hit — 

Shafts he launched 'neath Grecian sky 

In those days so long gone by, 

Yet as current proverbs fly. 

Good things out of reach this hour 

Still are Reynard's clusters sour. 

Beasts, 't is said, in the Age of Gold 

Sylvan parliaments did hold. 

Birds articulate could then 

Give advice to husbandmen ; 

Rocks and leaves of pine-trees talked 

Unto such as 'neath them walked. 

Odors of the wood and field 
^Esop's mythiambics yield, 
Freshness of the open air 
"Vivifies his wisdom rare : 
Georgics his best fables are — 
Socrates just ere he died 
Myth of ^Esop versified. 
Reynard of the fabling Greek 
Is as subtle, wily, sleek 
As the fox of Teuton rhymes 
Flourishing in later times. 
Animal-epic's villain he, 
Master of chicanery ; 



364 Lamplight vs. Starlight. 

Lion, Bruin, Isegrim, 

All alike were game for him. 

Paws and claws and teeth were vain 

Matched against his subtle brain : 

Wins he ever, when he tries 

With his glozing tongue and lies. 

Animal capable is he, 

Full of resource, subtlety, 

Ever helpful, good at need, 

Wherefore should he not succeed ? 



LAMPLIGHT vs. STARLIGHT. 



pvRUNKEN with oil and all ablaze 

**** A proud lamp sneered at Vesper's rays ; 



Boasted it shed a brighter gleam 
At eve o'er valley, hillside, stream. 

The night wind rising softly sighed, 
And in its breath the lamp's light died. 

Kindled its wick, some one again, 
From biting taunt could not refrain. 

" Short-lived your radiance seems," he said, 
" Their beams the stars forever shed." 



The Oak and Reeds. 365 



THE OAK AND REEDS. 

A N Oak upon the mountain side 
** A thousand tempests had defied, 
Erect with an unbending pride. 
Its centuried roots and trunk at last 
Succumbed unto an autumn blast : 
A rain-swollen torrent swept it down 
No more the windy upland's crown 
Into a pastoral vale below. 
Borne on a river's gentler flow 
The Oak was soothed by whispers low 
Of tuneful Reeds which bent and sighed 
Over the meadow-furrowing tide. 
" O Reeds," it said, " I see you frail 
But still unbroken by the gale, 
While I, with adamantine strength, 
Uprooted lie and prone at length." 
" O fallen Oak," the Reeds replied, 
" Exultant in your gnarled boughs' might 
You wrestled with the blasts, which smite 
Wrathful your natal mountain height, 
And stooped not ; but when wild winds rave 
We, bending low, unbroken wave." 



366 Omphale. 



OMPHALE. 

T^HE famous Lydian queen, dame Omphale, 
* The rights of woman vindicated long 

Ago. The Grecian lion-tamer strong 
The crowned virago held in slavery, 
Great Herakles, with temples fillet-bound, 

And garb effeminate, she made him spin. 
His strong hand swiftly twirled the distaff round, 

While beauteous maidens made a merry din 
To see him bend to work with shoulders vast, 
To 'scape his mistress' anger making haste. 
'T was a sweet servitude 'mong blooming girls 

To card the purple fleeces soft and fine ; 
Perchance he sported with their glossy curls, 

While haughty Omphale in state did dine, 

And Dejanira in her lonely home 

Tended the hearth-fire, dreaming not her lord 

Afar was faithless to her bed and board, 
And with barbaric maidens lured to roam. 
But for his faithlessness he quickly paid 

A direful penalty of fiery pain. 

His Grecian spouse to draw him back again 
Innocently with venomed robe essayed 
Steeped in the gore of Nessus for a charm. 

The shaggy Centaur bore her when a bride 
Upon his shoulders o'er Evenus' stream 



Anakreoris Dove. t>^7 

And midway with lewd hand her touched ; her 
scream 
Brought a swift arrow in his life-blood dyed, 
That gushing stained the river far and wide. 



ANAKREON'S DOVE. 

OEAUTEOUS dove, say, whence and where 
*-* Fleetly running on the air 
Fliest thou with wings, which myrrh 
Still dispense whene'er they stir ? 

Courier of Anakreon I ; 

( ii What 's that to you ?" were meet reply :) 

To Bathyllos swift I fly, 

Passion's minion, for the hour 

Own all hearts his sovereign power, — 

To Aphrodite I did belong, 

But she sold me for a song. 

Know my service is to bear 

Amorous missives through the air. 

Letters such as these you see 

Waft I over land and sea, 

And my guerdon is to be 

(Which I crave not) liberty. 

Though he bid me fly away, 

With Anakreon I will stay ; 

Better sure to be his slave 

Than aimless roam earth and wave, 

Over fields and mountains high, 



368 Herodotos, the Father of History. 

Stooping when the night is nigh, 
To wild-wood perch — casual fare 
Scantly gleaning here and there. — 

Now Anakreon's bread I share, 
From his hands with dexterous bill 
I unchidden snatch my fill, 
And he lets me sip his wine, 
As we thus together dine. 

With my pinions fleet outspread 

Shadow I my master's head ; 

When of sport at length I tire 

Sleep I on his very lyre. 

You know it all — worse than crow 

You 've made me chatter, man, now go. 



HERODOTOS, THE FATHER OF HIS- 
TORY. 

OLAT^EA, Marathon, Thermopylae, 

*■ Salamis, battles wherein Freedom won 

Her primal trophies 'neath a Grecian sun, 

W T ith epic fire by him recorded be. 

The mighty capitals of the foreworld he 

Beheld and storied streams which past them run, 

Babylon, Memphis, and Athenai free, 

Whose goddess queened it o'er the ^Egean Sea. — 

When first he saw from his Ionian prow 

The palms of mystic Egypt waving green, 



The Scyth. $6g 

Her pyramids old then, her skies serene, 
And banks of Titan-citied Nilus, how 
Dilated grew his eyes, as up the stream 
He glided tranced as by some gorgeous dream ! 

Though he to Iran's king was subject born, 
Strong pulsed the blood of Hellas in his breast. 
From Orient's splendor to the dimmer West 
He turned with fervid loyalty not scorn. 
Athens he loved, the very Greece of Greece, 
And saw her from her ruins re-arise 
With propylaean grandeur to the skies 
Beneath the splendid sway of Pericles. 

His rich Ionian narrative he read 
To all assembled Hellas in his prime, 
The eternal record of her deeds sublime, 
In eyes of all the future to be spread, 
And 'gainst the hosts of Tyranny inspire 
The latest ages with a kindred fire. 



THE SCYTH. 

T^ENTED still, as long ago, 
* Where Oxus' yellow waters flow, 
Shepherd, herdsman, cavalier, 
Roams the Scyth his pastures vast 
Unto history's father known. 
Holds the Nomad still his own : 
Sealike steppe and grassy waste 
To his pastoral heart more dear 



370 The Scyth. 

Than the towered city grand, 
Khiva, Balk, or Samarcand. 
Eateth still this lord of herds 
Flesh of horse, mare's milk, curds : 
Poleward from the summer's blaze 
Guide his hordes the North Star's rays, 
Where cool sward the heat allays, 
And the rush-fringed river strays ; 
Winter-vext a milder zone 
Makes he for the time his own, 
Holding in barbaric fee 
All the land his eyes can see. 

Tidal waves of Tartar, Hun, 
South no more can overrun ; 
Children of the spade and plough. 
Laugh to scorn the Nomad now, 
Othman, Zingis, Tamerlane 
O'er the earth no more can reign. 
Sultan, Emir, Khan no more 
Terror strike from shore to shore ; 
Over all the old Levant, 
Civilization's primal haunt, 
Mufti, Cadi, and Pacha, 
Cease to enforce barbaric law. 
Blighted continents and isles 
Freed are dimpled o'er with smiles. 
Sultan eastward soon will tramp, 
Break by Bosphorus his camp, 
Haply with his followers haste 
To the ancient Scythian waste. 



A Doric Temple. 371 



A DORIC TEMPLE. 

DRAVELY the waves of Time, Doric fane, 
*-* Thou ridest, stemming its centuried surge 
Unwrecked, with marble timbers sound, though 

gilt 
And gaudy dyes were long since worn away. 
Lone standest thou upon the lonely plain, 
With stately peristyle erect as when 
Thy builders heaved thy columns into place. 
Familiar hast thou grown to sun and moon and 

stars 
As are yon mountains or the neighboring sea ; 
Kindly the soft air of the South has dealt 
With thee — sun-warm caress of balmy breeze 
Using instead of sharp corrosive tooth. 
O Dorian mood august of Long-ago 
In pillared marble richly, grandly wrought, 
Well may the Mighty Mother bid her seasons 
O'er thee glide innocuous. Wast thou not 
In glorious youth-time of the world her shrine, 
Fuming sweet odors to her deity, 
Till all the plain with incense was be-dimmed, 
Smelling of far-off Araby the blest ? 
Upon thy centuried steps 't is sweet to dream ; 
Mountain and sea, lone plain and shrine are as 

they were 
When over southern Italy the rich, 



372 The Midland Sea. 

Voluptuous, Magna-Grecian life pulsed strong. 
Here sitting in the summery solitude 
We let our thoughts drift backward far 
Into the bright Hellenic morning-red, 
Till sunny sensuous faces throng around 
Wherein no trace of sad reflective thought 
Appears, no sense of sin or mystery, 
But gladness of a free, spontaneous life 
Upon the bosom large of Nature lived, 
The Mother mild, with human visage tanned 
By harvest-suns and wheaten tresses fair. 



THE MIDLAND SEA. 

JWl IDLAND ocean, round whose margin 
* " * Towered the city-states of old, 
To their arms your surges wafted 

Power and riches as they rolled. 
All your depths with bones are whitened, 

Bones of mariners of yore, 
Wrecked and drowned by myriad tempests, 

Through the ages strew your floor. 

'Neath your waters they are lying 
Thicker than the waves o'erhead, — 

Buried nations, Tyrians, Grecians 
Numberless, the ancient dead. 

Gold and gems among them glisten, 
Sword and helmet glimmer there, 



Xerxes Crossing the Hellespont. 373 

While the shades of the unburied 
Swarm above the haunted air. 



Every billow has its shadow, 

Tyrian, Grecian, Punic ghost ; 
O'er the waters, which submerged them, 

Hovers still the countless host. 
Thus, through spectral armies gliding, 

Sail the ships which traverse thee ; 
Not a channel, but a charnel 

Is thy floor, O Midland sea ! 



XERXES CROSSING THE HELLESPONT. 

P RE o'er his bridge his countless legions rolled, 
*-* Xerxes the rising sun with pomp adored, 
And in the sea from golden chalice poured 
Libations — clouds of frankincense enfold 
The rites, while all the ways were myrtle-strown. 
The Parsee monarch prayed that he his sword 
Might over vanquished Europe wave as lord, 
So that his sway its utmost bounds might own. 
A golden bowl he cast in Helle's stream, 
Where sunk his scimetar with jewelled gleam — 
Then 'gan the mighty transit — spear on spear 
And helm on helm in serried splendor flowed — 
Seven days and nights in sun and stariight glowed 
The crossing host, ere came the tardy rear. 



374 Ames tr is, the Wife of Xerxes. 



AMESTRIS, THE WIFE OF XERXES. 

A MESTRIS, Xerxes' queen, alive entombed 
r* In earth twice seven youths of noblest strain, 
Favor of nether deity to gain, 
Eblis or Ahriman. To wrinkles doomed 
By gathering years she sought her charms to save 
By hideous sacrifice unto the grave 
Of youth and beauty quick with joy and hope. 
Thus boundless power to boundless crime gave 

scope, 
By selfishness and superstition dire 
Prompted, as if anew life's waning fire 
The dark rite could rekindle in her veins, 
And put far off the penalty and pains 
Of death, whose menace can bring dread alone 
To him or her who sits upon a throne. 



CAMBYSES AND THE CALF-GOD. 

r^ AMBYSES, son of Cyrus, was an epilept ; 

^^ And, being sovereign of the world, he in 

His moods outdid Orlando the Furious. 

He ran amuck 'gainst Egypt's superstition, 

And disentombed her mummied kings, where they 

In sculptured, palm-leafed sepulchres reposed, 

And had their undecaying carcasses 

Most soundly whipped. Egypt's priesthood 



Cambyses and the Calf- God. 375 

Were scourged at his command like caitiffs vile. 
'T was after his mad march southward against 
The Ethiopians, who by a zone 
Of burning, trackless desert dwelt intrenched. 
At last, the lurid simoom blew the soil 
All light and granular into burial-mounds 
O'erwhelming horse and rider ; and the desert 
One mighty sepulchre became, wherein 
Lay massed in death far Susa's chivalry. 

Returned- to conquered Memphis found the king 

In festal raiment all the land of Nile, 

With banquets and ovations celebrating 

The visible advent of a deity 

Made flesh, but flesh of grazing kine, not man. 

The fierce Parsee the ill-timed, general joy 
Interpreted as exultation o'er 
His army's loss. Mayor and aldermen 
Of Memphis summoned he for explanation. 
They told the jealous king that Egypt had 
A god, at distant intervals who showed 
Himself unto his votaries, whereat 
The land rejoiced. The Magian monarch deemed 
Their tale a lie, and ordered them to death. 
Then summoned he the priests, and they confirmed 
The ill-starred magistrates. " Has Egypt, then, 
A god so tame and manageable ? Produce this 
Apis." 

And at the word, the priests led in 

A calf, with forehead starred with white, which on 



376 Two " Godless" Kings. 

His back the figure of an eagle bore, 

And on his tongue a scarabseus. Rage 

In eyes of fierce Cambyses shone, as he 

The calf-god saw. His dagger drawing swift 

He stabbed the harmless creature in the groin. 

To roars of laughter changed the monarch's ire. 
" O stupid knaves, and this is, then, your god ! 
It is a god of Egypt truly worthy ! 
Compact of flesh and bones, vulnerable. 
But me a laughing-stock think not to make 
With backs unscarred ! " And then the scourge 
Raised bloody weals upon the priests' bared flesh, 
While in his shrine the god languished and died 
And secretly his worshippers performed 
His funeral rites, Cambyses' anger fearing. 

For not to form enshrined of man or beast 
The haughty Persian knelt ; the mountains he 
His altars made ; his incense was the mist 
Of morn ; the azure air, his temple-dome ; 
His god, the Sun, of all the immortals fleetest, 
Most luminous, life-giving, radiant. 



TWO " GODLESS " KINGS. 

1/ ING CHEOPS Egypt's temples shut and barred, 
1^- And calves and onions went unworshipped for 
The space of fifty years. So long he reigned. 
Altars were smokeless, priests to secular toil 



Two " Godless " Kings. Z77 

By royal mandate stern were strictly kept. 

So Egypt's gods a long vacation had. 

Meantime, the sun and river made the land, 

Though prayerless, with wonted plenty teem. 

As morning's ray from the Arabian sands 

Touched Memnon's lips with violet and gold, 

Vibrated they with wonted melody, 

And when, from far Saharan solitudes, 

The sun with level splendor cities steeped 

And fens and palms, their farewell sweet was heard. 

Labor, not piety, the fashion was 

In Egypt 'neath this so-called impious king. 

Like emmets toiled the multitude rearing 

His pyramid, whose stones in cosmic order 

Were laid and plumb'd by beams of planet, star. 

So year by year the pile grew mountain-like 

O'erlooking Delta and divided Nile, 

Henceforth to be, like river, palms, and fens, 

And crocodiles, of rainless Egypt part. 

'T is hoar e'en now with forty centuries. 

And Cheops' son was like his godless sire, 

Foe unto superstition and its rites. 

He, too, reigned half a century, and kept 

The temples barred and prayerless all the time. 

Thus ancient Egypt had immunity 

From priestcraft for a hundred godless years, 

While Nilus swelled and annual harvests bloomed. 



37$ The Fury-Hunted. 



THE FURY-HAUNTED. 

r\ HOLY night ! thy boon, at last, 
^-^ Of honeyed sleep to me was given ; 
In slumber's sweet oblivion passed 

For me thine hours 'neath cope of heaven. 
I buoyant wake from pleasant dreams 

In orient morning's air benign, 
And hear the gush of mountain streams 

And whispers of the mountain pine. 

Thanks to Apollo, on my track 

The dark Avengers hang no more — 
Me hither chased a hound-like pack 

Of phantoms grim from yonder shore. 
Far o'er the plain this templed height 

I saw and reached with desperate pace ; 
The Furies cursed Apollo's might 

And left me victor in the race. 

Here lustral fountains bubble clear 

To purge the stains of Wood away ; 
The venial homicide doth ne'er 

To Phcebus, savior, vainly pray. 
I saw his stately temple tower 

There whitely in the moonlight calm, 
And prostrate felt his soothing power 

My spirit steep in dew-like balm. 



Ionian Art, 379 

The foam of madness from my lips 

His mercy wiped — from off my soul — 
So long in frenzy's dark eclipse 

I felt the clouds of horror roll. 
Ah, lovely stretches to the sea 

Yon consecrated plain below, 
Where feeds on many a flower the bee, 

And perfumed breezes sweetly blow. 

Here, from Apollo's sacred steep, 

In joyous sanity I gaze 
On mountains, plain, and sapphire deep, 

Resplendent in the morning's rays ; 
And others, whom the Furies goad, 

For absolution hither climb, 
To shuffle off guilt's leaden load 

Upon this templed height sublime. 



IONIAN ART. 

FIRST from the halls of heaven 
Ionian chisels brought 
The gods, who live forever, 

In gleaming marble wrought ; 
To mortal eyes revealing 

The glorious shapes, which fill, 
Unmarred by care or sorrow, 

The starred Olympian hill. 
Shapes human, but uplifted 

O'er death, disease, and woe, 



380 Ionian Art. 

From heights of golden ether 

To watch the world below ; 
Far up above the tempests, 

Which shake men's dwellings frail, 
The odors of his mcense 

They haughtily inhale ; 
Which from a thousand altars 

The dimmed air heavenward wafts, 
While from the cup of Hebe 

They drain immortal draughts. 
No bestial shape defileth 

Ionia's pillared fanes ; 
In all her radiant temples 

Transcendent beauty reigns ! 
Oh, many a youth ill-fated 

Has from them turned away, 
Dazzled and smit with passion, 

Which earth might not allay ! 
Through hallowed groves to wander, 

Pallid, distraught, forlorn, 
Cursing the hour which saw him 

Of less than goddess born, 
And barred him from fruition, 

Or gave him but to fold 
For Hera's glowing beauty 

A vapor dim and cold ; 
Haply, through darkness gliding, 

He seeks the shrine alone, 
As if his burning embrace 

To flesh would soften stone, 
The radiant, rose-tinged marble, 

Wherein to breathe and move, 



Ionian Art. 381 

Voluptuously incarnate, 

Seemed Gnidus' Queen of Love. 
O Human Form ! refulgent 

In Art's ideal mould, 
What marvel at the worship 

Which hallowed Thee of old ? 
That stately temples shrined thee 

And to thee altars flamed, 
And hymns of mighty poets 

Thy sanctity acclaimed ? 
What taint was in such ritual, 

What canker and offence ? 
'T was Woman's form divinized, 

Which drowned the soul in sense ; 
But still the Mournful Mother, 

With soft, straw-colored tress, 
Keeps the fond idolatry 

Of worshipped loveliness ! 
Still in the heart her image, 

More beautiful for woe, 
Kindles the old, old instinct, 

But with a chastened glow. 
She is an Alma Venus, 

All-motherly and mild, 
Her embrace not for lovers, 

But to enfold her child. 

Unto Passion canonized 

With many a wanton rite, 
Rose from Gnidus and Paphos 

The mists of incense light ; 
To crowned Desire a-dripping 



382 Athens. 

With unguents and with wine, 
To lutes lascivious moving, 

Or strown in sleep supine. 
Of laughter, not of sorrow, 

There shone the foam-born Queen, 
The mistress of the orgie, 

With darkness for its screen ; 
Fawned on her step the lion, 

She stung the bestial heart 
In spring till into slaughter 

'T was maddened by her dart. 
Before her cities blazing 

In their ashes expire ; 
She showered upon the War-god 

Her caresses of fire ; 
Her eyes with mirth were swimming 

But with the mirth of wine, 
Not downcast with a sadness 

And tenderness divine ! 



ATHENS. 

[Fifth Century, B.C.] 

NO lifeless splendors crowned her, 
Of swelling dome and spire, — 
The segis of her goddess 

Flashed over her its fire ; 
In limbs colossal imaged 

Her genius seemed to stand 
And beckon to the nations 
Afar with outstretched hand. 



Athens. 383 

How strained his eye the mariner 

The violet waves across, 
To catch thy first effulgence, 

Athena Parthenos ! 
Would that thy golden spear-point 

Still o'er that island sea 
In mid-air proudly lifted, 

A sign of port might be ! 

O vanished, peerless city ! 

From crags of sunset cloud 
Great poets have rebuilt thee 

In all thy splendor proud ; 
When, magnet of the nations, 

Upon the JEgean shore 
All souls of noblest impulse 

Thou drewest with thy lore. 

In midnight of the ages 

Titanic dost thou stand, 
With fulgent tresses streaming 

And lifted torch in hand ; 
Upon the murk and tempest 

Its sparkles shine and fly, 
Until in rayless darkness 

A thousand years go by. 

Again thy radiance kindles 

The nations into flame, 
And Liberty and Reason 

Again man's birthright claim. 



384 Athens. 

O grand Ionian mother, 
E'en to thy shattered urn 

Returns the world for guidance, 
Its weary tribes return. 
***** 

O never more will sea-breeze, 

As long as breeze shall blow, 
To such a haven wafting 

Impel the voyager's prow. 
What though the bees still murmur 

As blithely as of yore ? 
They swarm the lips of genius 

In its first haunt no more. 

Ear of the stranger only 

Their elfin music thrills, 
As for the golden honey 

They roam the ancient hills ; 
The mountain ether cleaving 

In swift melodious lines, 
While over old Hymettus 

The long, long summer shines. 

Only the stranger's genius 

Can sing, as sang of old 
Thine own eternal minstrel 

Thy glories manifold, 
O lovely land of Pallas ! 

Thine immemorial streams, 
Thy limpid, shining heaven, 

Thy sea's purpureal gleams ! 



The Jupiter Olympins at Elis. 385 



THE JUPITER OLYMPIUS AT ELIS. 

ADHERE is the Jove of Elis, 
Which sate adored of old, 
By matchless Phidias carven 

Of ivory and gold ? 
From its large brow effusion 

Of tranquil thoughts was poured 
On warrior, bard, and statesman, 

Who silently adored. 

Thus throned on high Olympos 

The Thunderer Homer saw, 
When from his eyes the Muses 

The mortal veil did draw. 
The mighty poet's vision 

The mighty sculptor caught, 
And there it sate for ages 

Chryselephantine-wrought. 

Thus grasped the bolt of terror 

The right hand of the god, 
Thus rolled the locks ambrosial 

To ratify his nod ; 
Thus perched upon his sceptre, 

With ample pinions furled, 
His regal bird, the Eagle, 

Gazed o'er the nether world. 



\S6 The Ancestry of Per ikies. 

Nine hundred years the Grecian 

Unto it homage paid, 
And e'en the victor Roman 

Knelt awe-struck in its shade ; 
At length fanatic fury 

Dethroned the idol vast 
And in the smelting furnace 

Its rich proportions cast. 

The eagle-shaded forehead 

Of Zeus no more prevailed ; 
And in his fallen temples 

The smoke of incense failed. 
Was lifted o'er the nations 

The thorn-encircled brow, 
And to the cult of Sorrow, 

They 're loyal even now. 



THE ANCESTRY OF PERIKLES. 

O ICH Lydia was the foreworld's California, 

* ^ With golden-gleaming streams and ore-veined 

hills ; 
And Crcesus, Gyges, ass-eared Midas, were 
The world's primeval millionaires, the first 
To history known. A Greek, Alkmaion named, 
Befriended Croesus in some juncture grave ; 
And, to reward him, Lydia's monarch took 
Him to his treasury, and bade him thence 



Nemesis. 387 

Bear all the gold which on his person he 

Could carry. Whereupon, with boots capacious, 

And cloak, one pocket vast, the greedy Greek 

His vesture stuffed with gold, his boot-legs, too ; 

Sprinkled his hair with gold-dust o'er ; his mouth 

Filled full, until, all human semblance lost, 

He issued, stuffed, distended, overweighted 

With precious metal, so that Croesus burst 

In laughter loud at sight of his Greek guest, 

Shapeless, effulgent with metallic sheen. 

Thus, with the ore of Lydia enriched, 

Alkmaion breeder of fleet steeds became, 

And with his chariot won the prize at Elis, 

As an Olympic victor thenceforth famed, 

And 'mong the eupatrids his family 

Was ranked. Megakles, a son of him, 

By King of Sicyon chosen was to wed 

His daughter, Agarista, o'er a crowd 

Of wealthy, high-born suitors for her hand 

Preferred, and from their union sprung at last 

A grandchild, Agarista named, who dreamed 

She brought a lion forth, and shortly bore 

Great Perikles, A thenar s grandest son. 



NEMESIS. 



HTHEY reared her statue on the glorious strand 

Of Salamis, where Xerxes from his throne 
And insolence of power beheld o'erthrovvn, 
Wrecked, scattered, captured, his armada grand, 



3S8 The Venus of Praxiteles. 

Which Artemisia's valor could not save, 
The lovely Amazon from Carian land. 
On that famed beach the dreaded goddess stood 
Moulded with rattle, emblematic whip in hand ; 
Her brazen feet such waters fitly lave, 
Which trampled there on Asia's swarming brood, 
And saved young Freedom from her despot lewd. 
O Nemesis ! though time long since erased 
Thine imaged features and thy form abased, 
O'er earth thou still thy righteous scourge dost 
wave ! 



THE VENUS OF PRAXITELES. 

A LL through the foreworld's pagan centuries 
** Gnidus and Paphos odorous were with smoke 
Of sacrifice to Alma Venus fair, 
Goddess of sexual love and soft desire. 

Her Gnidian temple gleamed 'mid densest groves 

Of cypresses and plane-trees vine-encoiled ; 

Fashioned by chisel of Praxiteles, 

Of lustrous Parian stone, the goddess drew 

To Gnidus voyagers from every clime, 

W T ho in her marble presence lingered witched, 

Entranced by her ambrosial loveliness ; 

Though wrought of brittle stone her beauteous 

limbs 
As lithe and supple seemed as if of flesh. 
In purple bloom of budding maidenhood 
The mighty artist had the goddess carved. 



The Venus of Praxiteles. 389 

Her sweet lips cleft were with a witching smile, 

As modest in her marble nakedness 

She seemed as though in trailing drapery clad. 

There stood she with her left hand interposed 
To screen her nudeness from the gazer's eye, 
Enkindling love and yearning, sweet desire ; 
Her matchless symmetry was like a strain 
Of sweetest music, waking not foul lust 
And bestial appetite, but stirring soul 
And heart as well as sense, to tenderest love, 
Enraptured dreams of nuptial happiness. 

By genius of Praxiteles, as 't were, 

Made to descend from the ideal world 

And personal, perceptible become 

To touch and vision of her worshippers 

The foam-born goddess was a living might, 

A moulding and transforming power there on 

Her thick-embowered, and lofty marble base, 

Diffusing comeliness and beauty 'mong 

The tribes who worshipped her — impressing on 

Her female votaries' memories her own 

Fair, faultless image, — thus daughters they bore 

Of beauty exquisite, and Hellas thus 

Famous became for beauteous womankind 

Through length and breadth of the primeval world. 

Lucian relates a temple legend told 
Unto the votaries, who to Gnidus came, 
How that a noble youth was smitten with 
A nyrnpholepsy for love's goddess bright 



;qo Ipliigencia in Tanris. 

By daily gazing on her daedal shape, 
Wrought by the chisel of Praxiteles. 
From earliest dawn to twilight haunted he 
The chancel where the goddess stood in stone, 
Devouring with a hungry gaze intent 
Each lineament of her immortal charms, 
Until, to have his sacrilegious will 
Of his insensate sweetheart, he himself 
Concealed within the shrine at night, and there 
Was locked in solitude. He wound his arms 
About the marble cold, his lips of flesh 
Glued to the statue's lips with kisses warm — 
Thus all night long in loneliness he fed 
His impious passion on the marble shape, 
Whereof he was enamoured. Vanished he 
At dawn, and nevermore was seen of men, 
But traces of his midnight tryst remained. 
The temple legend treasured not his name. 
Thus by his deed alone, and naught beside, 
The statue-smitten ravisher was known. 



IPHIGENEIA IN TAURIS. 

[632-640.] 

Orestes. 



w 



OULD that my corse a sister's gentle hand 
In the repose of death might sadly lay ! 



Iphigeneia. 

It may not be, for this barbarian strand 
Is from thine Argive kindred far away. 



Prometheus. 



39 1 



Since thou an Argive art, I will assume 

A sister's office at thy lonely pyre, 
With streams of bright oil fed shall swift consume 

Thy limbs forlorn the fierce, funereal fire ; 

The flower-sucked sweetness of the mountain bee 
In rich libations on thy dust I '11 pour ; 

Nor shall the eye of passer fail to see 

Thy tomb with many an offering wreathed o'er. 



PROMETHEUS. 



M 



Y writhing form 
The wintry storm 
Lashes with rain and hail and snow ; 
In summer time, 
When melts the rime, 
The lightning's arrows round me glow. 

Warble in vain 

To soothe my pain 
The quiring Oceanides, 

Bringing the spell 

Of chorded shell, 
Who have come from their far-off seas. 

Brute Violence 

With hate intense 
And swart Hephaestus nailed me here ; 

While loudly rang 

Their hammers' clang 
O'er lonely steppe and crag austere. 



39 2 Prometheus. 

The coasts of light 

With squadrons bright 
Of stars I nightly contemplate. 

Hoar frosts of morn 

Find me forlorn, 
Still subject to an iron fate. 

New-raised to sway, 

'T were vain to pray 
To tyrant with unheeding ears : 

A spirit hard, 

A cold regard, 
In insolence of power he wears. 

From flashing gyre 

Of Helios fire 
I snatched man to ameliorate, 

Bent that my child 

From savage wild 
Should climb through art to high estate, 

Man, whom I wrought 
From clay and taught 

The gods with altars to appease, 
And heavenward flame 
And hymned acclaim, 

For which Jove bonds to me decrees. 

If ceased my race 
Him prayer and praise 
And fragrant altar-smoke to give, 



Prometheus. 393 

His gods and he 
Would meagre be 
With fast, and unapplauded live. 

The Titans old 

With scorn behold 
The Olympian upstarts on their thrones. 

But o'er them Fate 

Will drive elate, 
And crush at last the starry drones. 

In feast and song 

The bright day long 
They spend, while Man with pain and toil, 

Large drops of sweat 

And care and fret 
His food must gather from the soil. 

In future time, 

With craft sublime, 
He will Jove's dreaded lightning wield, 

And make it ply 

In earth and sky 
And servile to his bidding yield. 

In that far day 

Sky-fallen, gray 
Will Jove and all his conclave be, 

Shrivelled to dreams 

By truth's bright beams, 
While man upsprings erect and free. 



394 Pan ° 



PAN. 

Y\ 7 HO hears my reed-notes wild, for evermore 
* * Charm-struck he wanders from the haunts 
of men, 
Waiting in forest dim on lonely shore, 

Until my pipings soothe his ears again. 
I am the voice of deserts, and inspire 
A nameless awe amid my Oread choir. 

My coat of motley is the stars and seas, 

The shaggy forests, flowers, and grass and 
streams ; 

My breath is tempest loud or summer breeze ; 
My bosom heaves beneath the moon's soft beams 

In foamy tidal waves of passion wild ; 

And oft my heart has Echo's voice beguiled. 

I am the lord of mountains which o'ergaze- 
With azure pinnacles the earth and sea ; 

I slumber sweetly in the noontide's blaze 

Lulled by the upland pine and murmuring bee ; 

Swiftly the sunset-reddened crags I climb 

Waiting the mystic night and stars sublime. 

While sleep and silence hush the earth below, 
And tribes of beasts and birds and men are still, 

And huge Orion and Bootes glow, 

The brooding night with melody I thrill. 



The Delphic Apollo. 395 

My syrinx well may witch the poet's ears : 
It breathes the music of the quiring spheres. 

My shaggy beard is rays of sun and star ; 

My horns are flames of empyrean fire ; 
The dreadful Destinies my sisters are ; 

Apollo's self I vanquished with the lyre ; 
O'er shepherds, hunters, tribes of rural men, 
I lordship wield, in ploughland, wood, and glen. 

In pastoral Arcady, I wooed the Moon, 
Till she descended through the stilly air, 

While played I on my pipes a wizard tune, 
Which made her deem my biform body fair : 

The star-sown darkness veiled our dalliance sweet 

Hiding the ugliness of horns and feet. 



THE DELPHIC APOLLO. 

T^HE god forever hides ; 
* Eye sees not form divine — 
A subtle mist he glides 

Into his holy shrine 
From mountain chasm dim 

He breathes his awful spell ; 
Convulsed in every limb, 

His rede the Sibyls tell. 

The Pythoness disdains, 
With sacred furv fired, 



396 The Delphic Apollo. 

To warble Sapphic strains 
As if a harp-girl hired, 

Not to the idle ear 

For gain her voice she lends—* 

In sanctity severe 

She to the god descends. 

A thousand years the world 

Has on her accents hung, 
And wreaths of incense curled 

While moved her fateful tongue. 
Her lips a thousand years, 

With sacred foam besprent, 
Allaying human fears 

The voice divine have sent. 

Effusing fountains clear 

The gladdened earth was seen 
When Phoebus planted here * 

His lodge of laurel green. 
Respired the cloven hill 

From caverned, dim recess 
A mystic breath to thrill 

The writhing Pythoness. 

Up sprang a golden shrine 
Above the breathing cave 

Where erst the mountain pine 
Alone responses gave — 

* At Delphi. 



The Ten Thousand. 

But e'en religions die, 

And gods themselves grow old ; 
Beholds the visioned eye 

Apollo's altars cold ; 

The templed cave once more 

A haunt of pasturing kine ; 
The Sibyl's trances o'er ; 

Again the whispering pine. 
In those far future years 

Kassotis * still will flow, 
But trickle as with tears 

O'er wrecks of long ago. 



397 



THE TEN THOUSAND.! 

OEYOND the swift Assyrian stream 

*~* The sunset softly burned, 

And as they watched its farewell beam 

Their hearts with longing yearned. 
It seemed a radiant pathway back 

To far Ionia's strand, 
To wife and child, a shining track, 

And sacred fatherland. 



* Kassotis or Cassotis, a fountain on the Delphic steep near 
Castalia. 

\ Oi 5' eXeyov, on rj 8e 8iaftdvti rov 7toraf.tov itpoS 
E67tspav, Eiti AvSi'av uai ^looviav cpspoi. — Xenophon's 
Anabasis, lib. iii., chapt. v., sec. 15. 

" But they said that to one passing the river the way would 
lead to the West, to Lydia and Ionia." 



398 The Ten TJionsand. 

A hundred hostile nations barred 

That pathway to the West, 
But trackless waste can more retard 

Than foemen who molest. 
The twilight round them thick and fast 

Its deepening shadows wove, 
Their mailed limbs on the earth they cast 

Nor 'gainst dejection strove. 

That sultry inland, vast and strange 

Scarce cooled the river-breeze ; 
They languished for the airs which range 

Their far-off, isle-strewn seas ! 
In troubled dreams they heard once more 

The ^gean surges beat 
The headlands of Ionia's shore 

With many-flashing feet. 

Lone legions from the Grecian world, 

Against your steeled array 
The Orient's myriads, vainly hurled, 

Are dashed to flying spray ! 
Though few and far from Hellas fair, 

A hope forlorn and lone, 
You 've tracked the spoiler to his lair ? 

The despot to his throne ! 

With morning's red the foe again 

Will shun the lion's paw, 
As Westward over mount and plain 

You haughtily withdraw ; 



The Ten Thousand. 399 

For clouds of horsemen hovering shy 

Again will wake your scorn ; 
Whose random arrows stingless fly 

From too safe distance borne. 

The road is long, but day by day 

'T will dwindle while pursuit 
Baffled and torn in every fray 

Will flag with limping foot. 
Ten thousand swords in Grecian hands, 

Whoe'er the foe may be, 
A path can hew through all the lands 

From Tigris to the Sea ! 

Beauty and gold, where'er they shine, 

Along the way can seize — 
Can revel in the foeman's wine, 

And appetite appease ; 
On Satrap's viands richly spread 

On fountain-shimmering lawns, 
Where bright birds carol overhead 

And sport the soft-eyed fawns, 

In Persian paradises bred 

For Beauty to caress, 
On daintiest confections fed 

The pets of loveliness : 
Not all the road is bridgeless stream, 

Wild steppes and gorges lone. 
The Satrap's haughty turrets gleam 

O'er many a wooded zone. 



400 Penthens. 

Another wave of Grecian might 
Shall dawnward roll afar, 

And into desert ruins smite 
The towers of Istakhar ! 



PENTHEUS,* 

[Choral Ode Translated from " The Bacchae " of Euripides.] 

/^•ODDESS holy, venerated, 
^— * O'er the earth as thou art flying, 
Speeding on thy golden pinions, 
Hearest thou the words of Pentheus, 
How he mocks the god of banquets, 
Bacchus, with his Theban mother, 
God of festal joy, whose worship 
Fragrant is with beauteous garlands ? 



* Euripides, the Athenian dramatic poet, who was known 
as the scenic philosopher or free-thinker of the stage, held the 
popular polytheistic beliefs of his time and country in little 
regard. But in his tragedy entitled "The BacchEe," written 
in the solitudes of Macedonia, he suddenly changes his tone 
from that of the habitual sceptic, free-thinker, and poetical 
rationalist to one of unquestioning piety, orthodoxy, and deep 
reverence for the mob of deities worshipped by the multitude 
of his contemporaries. He makes the chorus in the play from 
which the above extract is translated, the mouth-piece of his 
suddenly assumed piety. A devout feeling toward the god of 
wine — namely, Bacchus or Dionysus — would hardly be re- 
garded, in these days cf Law and Order Leagues and Neal 
Dowism, as piety at all, but rather the reverse. But the god of 
wine, in the estimation of the Greek polytheist of the times of 



Pent hens. 40 r 

Fly the cares before his presence, 
When with sound of flutes and laughter, 
Joins he, ivy-wreathed, the dancers, 
When the genial purple grape-juice 
Flows at banquets of the immortals, 
Giving sleep to human eyelids. 

Lo, the end of mouths unbridled, 

And of folly scorning usage, 

Sure misfortune is and sorrow ; 

But the life of peace and wisdom 

Undisturbed by evil chance is ; 

For the heavenly powers, though distant, 

Still are dwelling in the ether 

Noting all the deeds of mortals. 

Sceptic cavil is not wisdom, 

Nor audacity essaying 

Themes beyond our narrow reason. 



Euripides, was one of the most potent of deities, the inspirer 
of genius, the giver of a sacred enthusiasm, and the assuager 
and soother of human misery, care, and sorrow. Euripides 
was a contemporary and friend of Socrates, of Aspasia, Pericles, 
and Anaxagoras. It was a period of revolutionary thought. 
But orthodoxy was too powerful for the rationalism and ration- 
alists of the time ; for paganism or polytheism was once an 
orthodoxy, as much so as ever Calvinism or Romanism has 
been in later times. Socrates was made a martyr of free thought 
by this old polytheistic orthodoxy of the Athens of the days of 
Euripides. The philosopher Anaxagoras had to fly before it to 
Lampsakos and the splendid Ionian hetaira, Aspasia, who was 
the good genius of her lover Pericles, came near falling a vic- 
tim to it. Pentheus, the famous mythic King cf Thebes, who 
figures in " The Bacchte " of Euripides, and whose impiety is 



402 Pentheus, 

Life is brief ; and who enjoyment 
Of the hour that passes scorneth, 
It to vain pursuits postponing, 
Him a madman justly deem we. 

Would I might to Cyprus journey, 
Where the Loves, the heart-appeasing, 
Have their dwelling ; would to Paphos, 
By its stream of hundred outlets 
Fertilized, though rainless, showerless, 
I might also fare a pilgrim ! 

To the homestead of the Muses, 
To the holy hill, Olympos, 



the subject of severe comment in the above choral ode, op- 
posed the introduction of the Bacchic worship or Mysteries 
into Thebes, although the god of wine was the son of a Theban 
woman, Semele. The Bacchic orgies were introduced into 
Greece from the sensual land of Lydia in Western Asia. Pen- 
theus furiously antagonized the young-eyed Lydian deity with 
his golden curls, florid cheeks, serpent-twined thyrsus, and 
seductive influence over young maidens, when he made his 
advent into Thebes. Finally Pentheus was torn limb from 
limb by his own mother, Agave, and a wild rout of Maenads, 
or wine-infuriated women, who were holding their revels in the 
mountains whither Pentheus had gone as a spy upon their 
orgies. His mother Agave entered Thebes with the blood- 
dripping head of her son in her clutch, supposing that it was 
the head of a lion. The impious conduct of Pentheus was 
attributed to madness. He was represented as constantly be- 
holding objects double. In " The Bacchae," or "Drunken 
Women," of Euripides, we have a most picturesque account of 
religious rites which once prevailed over the whole ethnic 
foreworld ; for the intoxicating influence of wine was believed 
to be the direct inspiration of a supernatural personage or god. 



From Etiripides. 403 

Lead me, Bromius, god of genius, 
Of the fervid, deep emotion. 
There the Graces dwell with Eros. 
Thither lead me : there are lawful 
Orgies of the frantic Maenads. 

Bromius, son of Zeus, rejoices 
In the banquet. Peace he loveth, 
Peace of riches bounteous giver, 
Nurse of youths, as well as plenty. 

He to rich and poor has granted 
Equal gladness through the wine cup, 
Respite from their griefs and sorrows. 

He who scorns the gifts of Bacchus 
Cares not for a glad existence, 
Wooes it not by dark or daylight, 
Is a joyless, grim ascetic. 
Shun the caviller and sceptic : 
With the multitude accordant 
We subscribe to custom, usage. 



BAFFLED PURSUIT. 

[From " The Bacchae " of Euripides.] 

r\ GALLANT hart ! thy speed has won, 
^ Thy savage foes are left behind ; 
Defeated, baffled, and outrun, 
Their bayings die upon the wind. 



404 The Greek Philosophers. 

In loneliness exulting now, 

Thou slack'st thy pace beside the stream 
Whose waters through the dim woods flow, 

And twinkle in the sunset's beam. 

No foe is here, nor man nor hound, 
But all is silent, green, and still ; 

And soon the moon will glitter down 
On waving bough and tinkling rill. 

Here couched beneath the summer spray, 
While dewdrops cool thy panting breast, 

O ! breathe the stilly night away 
In tranquil dreams and sylvan rest. 



THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS. 

THE Greek philosophers — they were the monks, 
* Ascetics stern of paganism — reason 
In them kept sense in vassalage to soul — 
They knew the world of ear and eye and smell 
And touch and taste a passing cloud — no more, 
That conscious spirit is reality 
Alone. They were a needed tonic for 
The common herd each other jostling in 
The stye of sense for pudding, pelf, and power. 
They wore as costume of their order a cloak, 
Which, as 't was seedy oft and overworn, 
Was called a tribdn. Spectators they were, 
Not actors in life's struggle. Through them spoke 
The sovereign reason with impressive voice, 



A naxagoras* 40 5 

The sovereign reason, which is Deity. 

E'en such as all conventionalities scorned, 

And turned faces of apathy and pure 

Indifference to all the usages, 

Beliefs, and customs of society, 

As needed not by spirits, who ever dwelt 

Aloft upon the higher reason's plane, 

Were glorious idealists, champions 

Of truth. From Zeno's porch a voice 

Rang forth, the voice of duty high, that sounds 

Forever down the ages with clear note — 

Unto Demokritos, Epikuros 

The mysteries of nature were laid bare — 

Sun-worshipping Pythagoras could find 

Proportion, order, harmony throughout 

The universe, which is a unit in 

Variety, so that all sounds of life, 

Of oceans, cities, forests, throngs of men, 

Are one vast monotone and thus one force, 

One might, one heart of hearts, one soul informs 

And agitates the seeming complex world. 



ANAXAGORAS. 

* H 'Iaoviurj aipediS. 

Pseudo-Phi ta rch . 

("* ODS everywhere ; in water, earth, and air ! 
^-* Like to locusts in a land drought-stricken, 
So that all rational investigation 
Of nature is deemed intrusion, trespass 



406 A naxagoras. 

On the gods, deserving death or exile. 

I did but call the sun a globe of fire, 

Ignoring Helios, the charioteer, 

When a dull demagogue, impeaching me, 

Alleged I set at nought the deities 

In whom the state believes. Heinous offence ! 

E'en my friend Perikles is powerless here 

To save me from the demon-fearing mob, 

And I must fly forthwith to Lampsakos, 

Where fire and water to the thinker are 

Not under interdict ; forbidden fare. 

The mother-city of our race is too 
Much demon-awed. The old Pelasgic fear, 
The primitive ploughman's superstition, 
Still haunts these autochthonous Ionians, 
Which we have lost, transplanted over seas 
To a kindlier soil and sunnier clime. 
Commercing with the nations, here-and-there, 
We wear the yoke of usage, worship lightly, 
Knowing that manners and religions change 
With climates, which these untravelled know not. 
Therefore our spirits are not oppressed by 
Custom, tyrant dull, but, free and curious, 
Look not through eyes of stupid wonder and 
Blind adoration of we know not what ; 
But with shrewd, rational glance survey the world 
Of sense, earth, heaven and seas, cities of men, 
Rivers and ocean, sun and moon and stars, 
And what befalls them, as tempest, eclipse, 
Pestilence, earthquake, phenomena as 



Anaxagoras. 407 

Natural as sunrise, though less frequent, 
Keeping our forms erect, as they have grown, 
From base prostration fitting only slaves, 
The servile children of the morning-lands, 
With open eyes and ears by reason guided. 

Thus looking, thus surveying, our wise men 

Of Samos, Miletos, Mitylene, 

Ephesos, Colophon, Clazomense, 

Have had dawn on them dimly a vision 

Glorious, august, of an ordered world 

Instinct with reason, order's principle, 

Harmonious, grand, eternal, self-evolved 

By strong, primordial necessity, 

From ever-during seeds, atoms, or germs 

(For from nothing nothing can only come), 

No wretched domain of fickle deities 

With human lusts, passions, and appetites, 

Exorable, whimsical, unnatural men, 

Greedy of fumes of incense, throned above 

The mountain-peaks, where nought but herbless 

stone, 
Wild winds, and cold thin ether freeze the blood, 
But infinite, a Cosmos, such the name 
We give unto the ineffable All, 
The universe coherent, which a might 
Eternal fills, pervades through time endless, 
Beginningless, and boundless space working 
Forever without haste or rest. Reason 
Delighted order finds, proportion, law, 
And not merely fickle personal will, 



408 A naxagoras. 

So that the spheres make music as they roll 
With motions calculable in numbers. 
This is the Ionic Heresy, or school, 
Which we lovers of wisdom have founded 
In the far future to remould the world, 
And lift the grovelling race long ages hence 
To plane of reason and self-government. 

But what a fearful chasm yawneth 'tvvixt then 
And now ! when we lone beacons, few and far 
Between, our radiance shed o'er mournful wastes 
Of ignorance and lurid superstition, 
A few light-points only visible in 
Hellas colonial, not the mother-land. 

Century after century shall elapse 

In darkness, blood, and superstition, our words 

Talismanic hid in a language dead 

Meanwhile — when again hierophants shall 

Rise of Truth, links of the Hermaic chain 

Of wisdom, they shall arise successors 

Of ourselves and reason's supremacy assert 

Once more, the clue resuming where we let 

It drop, the clue of nature's labyrinth. 

O quest of truth, hallowed, august, serene ! 

E'en in thought's dawn glimpses of her have 

flashed 
Upon my vigils while I sleepless scanned 
The starry heaven, or turned my thoughts within, 
Like the lone nympholept in grove or glen 
Sojourning where immortal charms have 'witched 



A naxagoras. 409 

His eyes, thereafter with disdain beholding 
Meaner beauty. Seeing her features e'en 
Partially in holy hours of musing 
And rapt contemplation I cast from me 
Wealth, for I was princely-born, opulent, 
And wholly gave myself to her for life. 

Meantime, I have brought o'er Philosophy, 

Born on the Asian isles and continent, 

The outposts of our race, to Athens, cradle 

And metropolis of the Ionian, re-risen 

From her ashes in marble loveliness 

And splendor, with gardens, groves, porticos, 

Fit haunts for wisdom's sons in future years, 

Focus and central seat of meditation. 

I have done my work. Even to have taught 

One pupil like Perikles, to have inspired 

His soul with thoughts which, uttered from the 

bema, 
Awe fickle demos almost to worship, 
Were glory enough, if glory were my aim, 
Not to omit my other disciple, 
Euripides, scenic philosopher, 
Melodious master of iambic verse, 
From tragic cothurns and heroic heights 
Descending to the plane of real life, 
Potent to stir the sacred fount of tears, 
Speaking the language of the human heart — 
A tongue no lapse of time can antiquatc, 
E'en though the dialect he wields and moulds 
Into such siren harmonies were dead, 



410 Anaxagoras. 

Or living only on the written scroll, 

A silenced speech, unvoiced, unsyllabled. 

He, too, has scattered with a liberal hand 

My thoughts unto the listening throngs gathered 

To witness scenic pomps, with ravished ears 

To hear the rolling dithyrambic strains, 

The choral hymns to Dionusos chanted, 

And comic lee-songs in the purple spring. 

sweet symposia ! hours of glowing converse 
With Perikles, Euripides, Aspasia, 

And other selectest spirits, when wit 

And wine, and song, and garlands stirred the soul 

To bright communion, heart in heart melting, 

Ye will nevermore return to glad me ! 

Though well I know all places are alike 

To Hades near — to mine own land I will 

Return to die, mingling my ashes with 

The ashes of my sons already dead 

Before their sire — unnatural death ! Perchance 

My fellow-citizens will ask what honors, 

In recognition of the fame I sought 

Not but have won, they shall do me dead in 

Brazen urn imprisoned, a little dust ! 

To show I am not one morose, austere, 

Though given to thought, to meditation given, 

1 will have my birthday an annual high-tide 
Made, a festal time for youths and children. 
It Vv'ill keep my memory green and dear to 
Hearts unworn and fresh, gushing with gladness, 



A naxacroras. 



411 



By morning's red, by dews of morn still bathed. 

I have indeed disturbed the quiet of 

This ancient town of Pallas since I came, 

And, as the wits say, opened my thought-shop 

Here, and began to walk on air and gaze 

At stars. New phrases are in vogue, and doubt, 

The mood of reason, aroused, awakened, 

And of the canonized absurdities 

Of Eld ashamed, is widely prevalent, 

A healthful sign ! for Athens, the city 

Of the blue-eyed Maid of Wisdom, is not 

To remain a mere mart of traffic, famed 

For figs, oil, pottery, daedal works of art 

And matchless coinage, and swift triremes o'er 

The waves speeding like coursers. Renown 

Of other sort she is to win henceforth, 

Metropolis of thought, she is to be 

The luminous pharos of the nations far 

And wide through space and time refulgent shining. 

I, thought's torchbearer from Ionia, 

Have kindled here a flame no time can quench. 

But they ask why with usage, custom, fight, 

Why seek to overthrow the ancient rites 

From the thatched hut of the Pelasgic hind 

And venerable shrines, groves, oracles, 

Descended ? Heroes and patriots 

And singers inspired have practised them, 

Revering them, at Marathon repelled 

The Mede with dauntless breasts. 'T is false 

To say we seek their overthrow, unless 



412 A naxagoras. 

Knowledge confusion to them brings, knowledge 

And light. If so, why then they ought to perish. 

Change is healthful. Stagnation putrefies. 

'T is true the rabble's gods are not with us 

A current coin. The pathway of truth 

Wherein we walk leads from the shrines away, 

Where grovels the populace, beseeching 

Shapes of stone for cures, for wealth and safety 

On the waves. There was a god in my time 

Fettered the Hellespont, or feigned he did ; 

Behind him came from the loins of sunrise 

Legions innumerable, his dull slaves. 

This god at least was visible, the rest 

We take on trust from legends, myths of bards, 

But even Homer owns his gods to be 

By strong necessity environed, girt. 

For the forces of the universe are 

Not personal, nor by persons wielded. 

Persons like to the leaves and flowers of spring 

Appear and disappear in generations 

Quick perishing but evermore renewed, 

While nature's forces are forever young, 

Her hues unfaded and her rays undimmed. 

The red of dawn, its dews are lovely now 

As in the beginning, but impertinent 

That word. The universe knows not end 

Nor beginning, only eternal change 

Of matter eternal. Phenomena, 

Which make the world of sense, of ear and eye, 

In ceaseless flux around, beneath, above, 

Are flowing. But at the universe's heart, 



Conscience. 4 1 3 

As on some sacred hearth, the flame of might, 

Of life, which animateth all, burns on 

Forever, fountain of force unseen, one 

And the same 'neath all this masquerade, this 

Manifold variety, which charmeth 

Sense. They asked me once at Lampsakos whether 

The mountains there would ever become sea. 

Were not our generations deciduous 

As the generations of the leaves we should behold 

Dry land where once the wealthy mart with 

Haven mast-thronged up-reared its citadel, 

And, again, where unwieldy monsters rolled 

In the green chambers of the brine cities, 

With streets, with chariots, festal pomps. 

Vision august of Truth mine inner eye 

Hath seen, would that the race might see thee too! 



CONSCIENCE. 

[From Sophokles.] 

ITS laws and dictates in celestial air 
Engendered were, in reason pure enrolled. 
Thus are they current, binding everywhere, 
For God is in them and they grow not old. 



414 Diogenes. 



DIOGENES. 

T IFE, to its lowest terms Diogenes 

■■— ' Reduced, or tried to ; business of living 

He simplified with staff, wallet, well-worn 

Cloak, lentils, and water. Hunger and thirst, 

Those still returning wolves, he tried to tame, 

Them pampering not with dainty cheer such as 

The parasites of purple tyrants fed. 

His quick retort was like a bite indeed, 

Hence came the name of dog to him, and all 

The sect of wisdom-lovers of his type, 

Who, with stout cudgels and unbridled tongues, 

The cities of the Grecian foreworld roamed, 

The sugar-plum scramble of their race disdaining. 

The universal slavery to sense — 

Fame, power, and pelf, alike they scorned, and 

beauty's 
Charm on them its magic vainly tried. 
Albeit the scandal ran that Lais was 
Complaisant to Diogenes, as if 
The lean ascetic her caresses sought 
Or cared to win. The cynics scoffed at gain, 
The temple's colonnades of landlords made 
Them independent — these and a mild clime — 

* * * On the evil days 
Of Hellas fallen, when her soft citizens 
Their country's battles fought with hireling swords, 



Diogenes. 4 r 5 

Diogenes was full of wrath, seeing 
The semi-barbarous Macedonian 
Trampling the liberties of Greece, destroying 
Autonomy of all her city-states, 
Those glorious but narrow hives of wit 
And wisdom, poetry and eloquence, 
Dispersing Hellas, as it were, so that 
With leaven of her mind the outer world 
Might be at length infused and Hellenized. 
Heedless of the divinity that shapes 
Man's ends Diogenes was wroth — grimly 
He bade them bury him upon his face, 
As all things shortly would be upside down. 
Son of a money-changer of Sinope, 
A Grecian outpost on the Euxine shore, 
The scandal went its coinage he debased, 
He or his sire, with sanction of Apollo. 
Howe'er that was, exile or not, he went 
To Athens to hear the austere Antisthenes, 
Who, for his churlish tongue, was called dog 
Pure and simple — Haplocyon. Menaced 
He with his staff Diogenes, when first 
He to his lectures went, repelling pupils. 
But Diogenes, thirsting for wisdom, 
Willing to incur a broken head for it, 
Persisted till the harsh master was o'ercome — 
******* 

He called himself cosmopolite, citizen 
At large of the world, mocking the Athenians 
With their inordinate local conceit, 
Autochthonous exclusiveness and pride 



416 Diogenes. 

Of race and country, for they seemed to think 
The sun itself just outside Attica 
Arose and set. They wore as ornaments 
And tokens of their own ascent up from 
Their olive-bearing soil grasshoppers wrought 
Of gold, than which they were more garrulous. 
Haughtily hospitable was Athens 
To famous wits from other lands, who sought 
Her studious walks and groves. Demokritos 
No recognition from her sages found ; 
Her greatest moralist was a Semitic 
Alien, he of the Porch, from Cyprus hailing ; 
While soft Cyrene sent the hedonist, 
The wealthy Aristippus, thrall of sense. 
******* 
The famous Cynic's tub was myth, perhaps ; 
An Attic house was scarcely more than tub 
In size. Lucian him paints as wildly up 
And down, his tub rolling, in troublous times 
Of popular excitement, as if he 
Participated in the general stir ; 
He, who to plane of sheer indifference 
And apathy to fortune's gifts had climbed. 
'T was scenic contrast, the Cynic seated 
In his tub receiving Alexander 
With pride and scorn as great as gleamed in eyes 
Of Asia's conqueror, who awed the world. 
He could do naught for grim Diogenes 
But unobstructed sunshine leave to him. 
No love was lost 'twixt him and Plato, whom 
He deemed garrulous and diffuse, verbose, 



Diogenes. 4 1 7 

Clouding, disguising truth with many words, 
And overfine with his ideal cups 
And archetypal tables. For with him 
Wisdom or philosophy was not so much 
Fine talk, and endless subtle interlocution 
As a mode of life, as actual living, 
Which was, he deemed, the art of arts. 

Through Athens, Corinth, 
For years, their streets and porticos, stalked this 
Strange figure, incarnate protest, reproof 
Of a degenerate commonwealth lost to 
Its old renown, from an imperial sway 
Content to sink to base servility. 
He tramped to Elis to attend the games 
And scan the mighty throng assembled there ; 
Also to Delphi, Holy See of Greece, 
Unique among her cities, on its height 
O'erlooking all the Pleistus-gorge below 
And Cirrha's plain, with olive trees shaded 
Of foliage silver-gray, and violet waves 
Of Corinth's gulf, Sea of Lepanto now, 
A stout pedestrian with staff in hand. 
No inn he needed 'neath that Grecian sky, 
From mountain spring or rivulet quenching 
His thirst. * * * 

Finally, 
The haughty sage was found, weary with years, 
Dead in his worn cloak, wrapt, in the Craneum. 
They thought he was asleep, till from his face 
They drew his cloak away. 'T was said 
Life irking him he held his breath and died. 



4 1 8 The Ghosts of Marathon. 

On the same day in Babylon, his last 

Breathed Alexander dying of debauch. 

The wags of Athens said his corse would scent 

The world with odor of its rottenness. 

A pillar o'er Diogenes was reared, 

Surmounted by a dog of Parian stone ; 

The dog was totem of the Cynic tribe. 

Statues of bronze were also raised to him 

By his countrymen, his grandeur honoring. 

****** 



THE GHOSTS OF MARATHON. 

AT dead of night arise 
From barrows, where they lay, 
The warrior dead, who fought 
In Marathon's fierce fray. 

In gold cuirasses mailed, 

The Persian lords once more 

In shadowy charge are seen, 
Careering as of yore. 

Back from the steeled array 

Of hoplites stern recoil 
The shattered cavaliers 

Strowing the crimson soil. 

Wild battle-cries are heard 
Upon the nigh*-wind chill, 

The psean of the Greeks 

With trumpet-clangors shrill, 



Charon s Obol. 419 

The Medes' barbaric yell 

From throats unnumbered sent, 

Where fiercest glows the fight 
The air with groans is rent. 

Confusion, rout, and fear 

At length the haughty Mede 
In flying squadrons send 

Shoreward with panic speed. 

The warrior goddess shakes 

Her aegis o'er the foe ; 
With harvest of the slain 

The fields her legions strow. 

Thus at the midnight hour 

On Marathon's lone plain, 
In shadowy squadrons rise. 

The slayers and the slain. 



CHARON'S OBOL. 

pLACE an obol in his hand, 
* Ferriage to the shadow-land 
Lest the boatman grim and hoar 
Leave him on the hither shore, 
Wafting not his spirit o'er 
Where the shades in twilight dwell 
Haunting meads of Asphodel. 

See how fast his fingers cold 

26 



420 The Fall of A t liens. 

Charon's penny grasping hold ! 
Now his shade will swiftly glide 
Darkling o'er the Stygian tide 
Join the joyless phantom band 
Swarming all the nether strand, 
Lengthening as the swift years roll, 
For each moment sends a soul 
Flitting to that dreary coast, 
Swelling still its shadowy host. 



THE FALL OF ATHENS. 
[b.c. 84.] 

"P'EN in her degradation she was still 

*-** Focus of light, though o'er her bearing sway 

A mountebank enforced his murderous will, 

While Sylla's legions pressed her night and day. 
The eternal lamp went out leaving in gloom 

Athena's guardian helm and awful brow ; 

Uncoiled and dead her serpent lay below 
Her marble sandals, sign of coming doom ; 
About her knees her priestess moaning clung 

With sobs and tears within the shrine alone ; 
At midnight loud the Roman trumpets rung 

A fearful peal, that stilled the vestal's moan. 
With blood the violet-crowned city streamed, 
While o'er her fall the young moon softly beamed. 



Lucian. 4 2 r 



LUCIAN. 



THOU honey-bee of later, larger Greece, 
All flowers of Grecian song and Grecian lore 
Of every age, you sucked, and evermore 
Their sweetness hived in tomes, which never cease 
To charm new generations, as they rise, 
Tales, essays, dialogues, that every phase 
Of that rich, old Hellenic life unfold. 
Sage, sophist, rhetor, and impostor bold, 
Athenai's soiled doves fair your page displays : 
We hear and see them through your ears and eyes. 
Voluptuous description, wisdom, wit, 
Flow intermingled from your easy pen. 
We know the world you knew, its things and men ; 
Our own time leaving through you enter it. 



ii. 

That world was waning : e'en its gods were old, 

Their nectar stale and withered Hebe's bloom. 

But, still, over the iEgean's wave did loom 

The Maid of Wisdom wrought of ivory and gold ; 

The bright Levant with cities manifold 

Still gleamed,— for countless marble fanes found 

room 
On isle and mainland. East and West had met 



4-2 Palmyra — Zcnobia. 

In Egypt's many-languaged mart, which yet 
Survives. There Grecian reason was defiled 
By dreams of Orient enthusiasts wild 
And turned to mystical madness. At last, 
A throng of filthy anchorets o'erpowered 
Savan and sage, and mental twilight lowered 
O'er earth blotting the glorious Grecian past. 



PALMYRA— ZENOBIA. 

C 1 YE of the East, in which commingled glowed 
■■— ' Hellas and Araby in olden days, 
No more thy pillared splendor o'er the waste 
Of sand, City of Palms ! thou heav'st in pride : 
But on the desert are thy columns strowed 
Cumbering its lonely bosom far and wide. 

A gorgeous morning vision was thy queen, 
Zenobia, the peerless Palmyrene — 
Greece, Yemen in her starry glances shone ; 
Palms waved and spice-winds blew about her 

throne. 
And yet the dull, imperial brute prevailed 

Against her charms and arms, ill-starred brunette! 
Albeit her desert horsemen fiercely hailed 

An arrowy sleet his panting hosts to fret. 



Julian at Ephesns. 423 



JULIAN AT EPHESUS.* 

'"THROUGH strong compulsion have I hitherto 
' With tongue and knee adored or seemed t' 
adore 
The poor, dead God of Galilee, and thus 
Been made against my will a hypocrite. 



* In the middle of the fourth century of the vulgar era 
reigned Julian, surnamed the Apostate, because he endeavored 
to inaugurate a general reaction against Christianity in the 
interest of the old Olympian polytheism. Julian was edu- 
cated at Athens, and there imbibed a profound enthusiasm in 
behalf of the fair humanities of the old religion of Greece. In 
the twentieth year of his age, he was, according to Gibbon, 
delivered into the hands of Maximus, a pagan philosopher and 
mystagogue, who made him secretly the subject of an initiation 
into the chief pagan mysteries. In the caverns of Ephesus 
and Eleusis, Gibbon says, the mind of Julian was penetrated 
with sincere, deep, and unalterable enthusiasm. From that 
moment, he consecrated his life to the rehabilitation and 
restoration of the sway of the gods of the Olympian dynasty, 
of the deities of Homer and the Scipios, as against the new 
faith which his uncle Constantine had established in the 
Roman Empire. But, though he wielded the whole power of 
that empire in behalf of his reactionary movement, it was too 
late. Mount Olymposhad to succumb to Mount Zion. Julian 
was a scholar and a voluminous " literary fellow," his writings 
still surviving. But his attempt at a polytheistic reaction 
failed. The Zeitgeist invariably plants its foot upon all such 
attempts at reaction, which are simply endeavors to put back 
the hands upon the dial-plate of Time. 



424 Julian at Eplicsus. 

Not long will I be such, but soon my voice 
Shall truly announce the feelings of my heart. 
Which hitherto repressed have burned within 
Indignantly. Soon armed with might imperial 
Will I confront the throngs of filthy monks 
And warring factions, who in name of Christ 
Each other would exterminate from earth, 
And world-wide tolerance proclaim of all 
Religions, whatsoe'er their name or origin, — 
Such tolerance, as ere while was enjoyed, 
Before the faith of Christ became supreme. 
Still over all the Grecian world intact 
And glorious the temples of the gods 
Stand in their many-columned majesty, 
The matchless fanes of that primeval cult, 
Which sowed the earth with shapes of carven 

beauty, 
All Hellas filling with a populace 
Of heroes, laurelled athletes, bards — in bronze ; 
Each vale and every mountain glen adorning 
With beauteous shrines and forms of loveliness. 
These glorious relics of the sacred Past 
Have long been menaced by fanatics vile, 
Haters of Art and Poesy, to whom 
Beauty and harmony and wisdom high 
Are an offence, abomination. 
My power shall make innocuous their threats. 

Hail, temple-city fair of Ephesus ! 

Midnight now reigns above your shrine colossal, 

While arrow-loving Artemis, aloft 



Julian at Ephesus. 425 

Over her altars here, seems lovingly 

And lingeringly from cloudless skies to shine. 

Virgin august, rejoicing in thy shafts, 

Co-regent with thy brother Sun of heaven, 

The forest solitudes filling with sudden 

Irruption of hounds and shouting Oreads, 

Must thy divinity wane, as wanes thine orb 

At intervals, but with full sheen to shine 

Again as bright as ever ? Thus kneel I 

In thy midnight beam and swear, when sceptred 

Power shall make me strong, my strength shall 

In thy service wielded be against all who 

Would thy glorious empery o'erthrow. 

Mother of months, star-sandalled, chaste, and fleet, 

Henceforth thy votary I am by rites 

Of mystical consecration, henceforth 

Thy fulgent face shall be my sign in heaven, 

Whether a plenilune or crescent bright 

It shines o'erhead, — my sign, by which I'll conquer 

More surely than Imperial Constantine, 

My uncle, did, when saw he in the sky 

The crucified Judaean's Cross or feigned 

He saw at noonday on the battle's edge. 

No base, fanatic cult from Palestine 

Shall from my heart dislodge the festal gods 

Of bright Olympos, — Zeus, lyred Apollo, 

Violet-crowned Athene, patroness 

Of that fair city, eye of sacred Greece, 

And Greece of Greece in genius, sanctity, 

The immemorial seat of art and song 

And high philosophy, where learned I lore 



426 Julian at Ephesus. 

Of sages of the past, lore to my soul 

More dear than crown and sceptre, baubles bright 

Of that imperial sovereignty which soon 

I shall inherit and wield in cause 

Of reason, wisdom, tolerance, and truth 



THE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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